Amnesie
by blessedsilence
Summary: Squall develops amnesia after a terrible accident, forgetting about his past, and his love of Seifer Almasy. But Seifer refuses to give up on the love. How far will he go to make Squall remember? AU. Happy Birthday Ruth!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine, not even the plot =P however, if I could I would buy it all and give it to my girl Ruth for her Birthday, but sadly that won't happen..so...Squaresoft can keep it's stupid game -_-  
  
Warnings: Language, some bad writing and all around insanity..um..I know I'm missing something, but I'll get over it ^^  
  
Okay everyone, I'm writing this in honor of Ruth Aamski's birthday. Not only is she an amazing woman, she's also an amazing artist (no idea if I'm allowed to give link to her art, but it is on Sukunami's site) Note: I used one of Ruth's story ideas, so I hope I did it justice! Have fun, and have a nice day ^_^ oh! HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUTH!  
  
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'` '`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'  
  
Waves chase each other up onto the beach, lapping briefly at my bare feet before sliding gracefully back into ocean whence they came. Cold air brushes my face, and I unconsciously wrap my heavy gray trenchcoat tighter around my body to protect myself from the biting wind that seems determined to freeze me away from the night-darkened ocean. The silver moon sits heavily in the sky and watches me curiously, as it has every single night for the past three years. I breath deeply, allowing to salty air to fill my lungs one last time before turning away from the still water. My feet sink softly into the cold sand with every step I take, delaying my return to the beach-side house I share with two other people. I don't mind the extra time, it only gives him longer to find me. Logic tells me that I should just let him go, that it's been three years, he's not going to come back to me. But I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to logic.  
  
The beach house looks old and vacant in the night dark, and a heavy feeling of aloneness permeates the area despite the fact that there are two others in the house. I enter as quietly as I can, and move silently towards my room. It's not exactly an easy task given that boxes loaded with my possessions are stacked haphazardly all over the main room. Somehow though I manage to get past all the obstacles unmolested and continue into my bed room. The only item that hasn't been packed yet is the bed, even the sheets and quilts are somewhere in the sea of boxes. I slide out of my trenchcoat and carelessly let it fall onto the floor. I stretch my arms towards the high ceiling and yawn widely, only to let them drop a second later in surprise at the sound of my house mates voice.  
  
"He wasn't there again, I suppose."  
  
"No, not this time." I turn and flash a sad half smile at Irvine. The cowboy is leaning heavily against my doorframe, pajamas askew. His violet eyes still have that blank sleepy look that can only be achieved from being awoken during a heavy nap. "Didn't mean to wake you up."  
  
He waves his hand at me and enters the room. "No problem. Sides, I couldn't really call it sleep, what with Selphie kicking me in the side and waking me up every five or so minutes." I grin. His long time girlfriend, Selphie, really is a doll, even if she does have more energy than Balamb's entire power grid. I nod in understanding.  
  
Irvine flops down on the bare bed and looks up at me. "Are you going to keep coming to the beach? Your new dorm is only a couple of miles away." I shake my head.  
  
"Maybe every once in a while, but I doubt it. I guess it's finally time to stop hoping for things that will never happen. Besides, this new job will most likely keep me too busy for long walks on the beach."  
  
He props himself up on his elbows and peers hard at me. "Are you sure?" I nod at him, wanting to be over with the subject. The decision already hurts too much without Irvine questioning it. Thankfully he seems to get the hint, and changes the subject. "I still can't believe that you're required to live in dorms at your new job. Have you figured out who your roommate is yet?"  
  
The job he's talking about is my internship at Caraway Law Inc. For some reason Caraway demands that all of his interns live in the dorms adjacent to his large law office building with a more experienced worker who has been on the job for some time. I shrug at Irvine and sit next to him on the bed. "Not yet, I'll probably find out after I move in. Huh, with my luck, I just know it's going to be some creepy middle aged dude."  
  
Irvine shakes his head, which makes his long hair swing back and forth. "No, that would be too easy. With your luck, it'll be some gorgeous twenty year old female super-model."  
  
I scowl at him. "Shut up cowboy, I'm not the only man in this room who likes to play with the pink team."  
  
He flashes me an easy smile. "Maybe so, but at least I can also take advantage of the feminine beauties out there." He frowns thoughtfully. "And sometimes, I can even take advantage of both at once."  
  
I groan and toss him off of the bed. "Get the hell out of here and go brag to Selphie about your conquests. If you'll remember, you're not the one who has to be up before seven in the morning to meet the damned movers."  
  
He smiles quietly at me. "Fine, I'll leave," he turns around. "But Seifer, no matter what happens, don't give up on him." And then he's gone, shutting the door softly behind him. I stare after him for a minute, then turn and lay in a fetal position facing the wall. Good old Irvine, he's the only person who never ridiculed me for waiting for him to return. Even Selphie had told me that he wasn't going to come back, no matter how many trips to the beach I made. I think Irvine's faith is the only thing that has kept me going these past three years, otherwise I may have given up on him long ago.  
  
Him, Squall. Everyone ridiculed me for loving the icy bastard, because they all were uncomfortable with my softer, more 'romantic' side. What idiots. Just because I like to play the part of an arrogant bastard doesn't mean I can't still love somebody, does it? Unknown to most people, I can be a hopeless sappy romantic. And despite what others may think, my heart is capable of being broken, and it was. With a sigh I curl up tighter and allow myself to think back to our last day together.  
  
The sun was high in the blue sky as I silently entered the old beach house. The inside of the house was cool, thanks to the large air conditioners placed throughout the entire residence. Squall is sitting hunched over the table in the middle of the main room, his back to me. Apparently he didn't hear me when I came in. With a mischievous grin on my face I tiptoe silently behind him to see what he is doing that could possibly distract him from me. To my little surprise he's writing, probably a continuation to his story that never seems to be finished. I reach over him and snatch the paper before he realizes what's happening. He spins around in the chair and glares at me while trying to snatch the paper from my hands, but I hold it out of his reach. I quickly scan the format and smirk at him. " Damn, Squallie, I wasn't aware that you wrote poetry."  
  
He glares harder. "I don't."  
  
Normally I wouldn't care, but I hate to pass up the chance to piss off Squall. Holding the paper high above his reach I read off the words. "Two things in life can set you free, Love and hurt now intertwined, Both feelings kept within the soul, but torn apart within the mind. If you love the man you'll let him go, irreparable hurt will cause the same, you'll die inside to watch him leave, but to let him stay is only pain." I raise an eyebrow at Squall. "Sounds like poetry to me. So... what does it mean?"  
  
He manages to get the paper back from me. "It's complicated."  
  
I roll my eyes at him. "Nice try Squall, now what does it mean?"  
  
He huffs. "Fine, but don't laugh." I raise an eyebrow at him, and he blinks at me. "Whatever. Okay, so you've heard the saying about if you love someone enough you'll let them leave, and if the come back they're yours to keep?" I nod. "Well I'm sort of expanding on that. I think that if you love someone they should be able to go, but I also think that if the person hurts you then you should leave him, you see? Basically both love and hurt can set you free." He must notice my obviously amused face because he scowls. "It's for my story."  
  
"Ahh, makes perfect sense."  
  
He sighs and turns back to the paper. "You're right, I should just forget about it. He starts to crumple the paper, but I reach over and grab his hand.  
  
Frowning at him, I ask "when did I tell you to forget about it? I happen to think it's good that you have a hobby. Now put that shit away, we have precious little time before you leave tomorrow."  
  
Squall looks at me blankly. "Seifer, you do know that Irvine and Selphie are here, right? I refuse to have sex with you while they're around."  
  
Normally I would argue with that, but he has a point. Even I get tired of having the homosexual-happy Selphie 'accidentally' bursting in on us while we're in the middle of the horizontal tango. I put on my hurt expression. "Squall, my dear, dear boy and rival of old, do you honestly think that I would spend this last day with you just lounging around and enjoying good old sex? I'm hurt that you would feel that way. Sorely, sorely wounded, right here where it counts," I point to my heart. The lovely brunette puts his hand to his forehead. Grinning, I grab his hand and pull him behind me. "Come on, we're going to the beach."  
  
As is typical of the grainy substance, the sand slows our progress and causes us to trip several times. Eventually though we get down to the waters edge. I flop onto the ground, while my picky lover chooses to sit carefully next to me, hugging his knees to his chest. We both sit in silence, enjoying the still Summer ocean. Finally I turn to him. "You're going to be coming home, right?"  
  
He looks at me funny. "Of course I am."  
  
Suddenly I get a feeling of dread. "Yeah, but how do you know? What if something happens?"  
  
He shrugs. "Like what?"  
  
"I dunno, what if there's a flood, or a bomb, or a really, really big plague epidemic and we have to flee to separate countries and never see each other again?"  
  
He shakes in silent laughter. "Seifer, I doubt that will ever happen. But since you seem to be so damn worried, how about this; If we ever get seperated from each other, let's meet here, at this beach."  
  
I bite my lip, then nod. "Yeah, that'll work."  
  
He turns and kisses me on the forehead. "Course it will, but don't worry. I'll be back for you." He smiles then and stands, offering me an outstretched hand. "Now let's go swimming, before I drag you in."  
  
I close my eyes slowly and concentrate on that last smile. Squall said he would come back, but he never did. He never even called or came for his things, and no one at the army base knew where he was, only that something had gone wrong with the mission and they had lost contact with Squall and his mates. When the army finally tracked down the fallen plane they found the other four members of the mission, all dead from the impact of the crash. They had found traces of Squall's blood, but no Squall. And I've been waiting here ever since, but I guess that's all going to change tomorrow. I force Squall out of my thoughts, and allow sleep to overtake me.  
  
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'` '`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'  
  
The dormitory building is rather typical, large and brightly painted with an unheard of shade of red. The grounds are perfectly kept, and everything looks perfect underneath the cloudless blue sky. The white door to my second story dorm has the number 2308 printed on it in perfect black letters. I stare at the round eyehole for a second before knocking politely. Loud barking comes from inside the dorm, and I back away somewhat apprehensively. A harsh command of 'Down!' comes from the inside, and then the door is opened. I find myself staring into the dark eyes of a lovely young woman.... not what I expected.  
  
She smiles at me and motions me in with her free hand. "Hello, you must be the roommate! Why don't you come on in and get acquainted with the apartment."  
  
I enter, making sure to avoid the dog, which has got to be the largest dog I've ever seen. Unfortunately he also seems to be determined to get at me, although I can't tell if he wants to kill me, or just maim me. The dorm is typical, the living area is in the center, with doors off to the left and right (bedrooms, I'm assuming) straight ahead from the door, on the other side of the living room, is a glass door which leads to the balcony. To the immediate left of the door is a tiny kitchen, and to the immediate right is another door, which might be a bathroom. Everything in here is so bright and sunny, and clean.  
  
I walk into the room, with the intention of stepping out on the balcony, when the dog suddenly gets free of the woman's hold and comes straight for me. Before I can do anything to defend myself he rears up on his hind legs and knocks me backwards onto the couch. Instead of being viciously mauled, I find something worse happening. I'm being viciously licked. I start a game of strength with the dog, doing my best to get the fucker off of me. From somewhere above me I hear the woman scream, "Dammit Seifer, get off of him!"  
  
I finally shove the beast onto the floor and stand, drawing myself to my full height. Glaring at the woman I say, "Well excuse me ma'am, but he's the one that started it. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get settled without you accusing me of attacking Fido over there. Now which one is my room?"  
  
She looks at me, confused. "I wasn't talking to you, sir. I was talking to the dog, Seifer." She points in the dog's direction. "And I don't know where your room is, I don't live here."  
  
I blink at her. "The dog's name is Seifer?"  
  
She nods. "He's my boyfriend's dog. Isn't he just a big, ugly thing? The shelter said he's part Great Dane, part Mastiff. I would have much preferred a Chihuahua, or at least something cute. And the dog's name, Seifer, isn't that a terrible name? I wanted to call him Fluffy, but my boyfriend wouldn't let me." She pouts exquisitely.  
  
I raise an eyebrow at her. "In case you hadn't noticed, Princess, my name is Seifer. Now, can I just assume that your boyfriend is my roommate, and if so, where the hell is he?"  
  
Obviously she doesn't notice my annoyed tone of voice, and immediately shakes my hand. "Well Seifer, how nice to meet you! I'm Rinoa Heartilly, Daughter of Julia Heartilly and James Caraway, the owner of this law firm." She releases my hand, obviously disappointed that I don't give her the astonished respect she must be used to. She continues onward with a slightly diminished enthusiasm. "My boyfriend should be here soon. In fact, I don't know why he isn't here right now."  
  
I look at the ceiling. "That's great, now does your boyfriend have a name, or should I call him 'My Boyfriend'?"  
  
She smiles widely. "Of course he has a name silly!"  
  
I feel like slapping her, but instead decide to pick a bedroom before the moron gets here. I'm just entering the left small room as the door opens. Both the dog and Rinoa go crazy, it's impossible to tell which one more. I could go out and meet the man, but I don't feel like putting up with this Rinoa anymore. I'm sure she's a nice lady, if you don't know her, but she's too much for me at this very moment. All I want to do is get moved in and get some proper sleep. The room is L shaped, with the bottom of the L sporting a fold up bed. I didn't even know these things existed outside of movies and Garfield. I stick my head in the closet and look around. Just as I do someone enters.  
  
"I suppose you met Rinoa." The Boyfriend says. I pretend to become very interested in the back corner of the closet, not really caring to discuss the girl. "She says that you're name is Seifer. It's too bad, I thought I had made that name up." He sighs. Like I give a damn who thought of the name. I come out of the closet and turn towards him as he finishes his next sentence. "My name is..."  
  
"Squall!" As cliche as it is, the thought 'I don't believe my eyes' passes through my head. But it's true, he's there, my Squall.  
  
He frowns slightly. "Do you know me?"  
  
I walk towards him, and there is nothing. No flash of recognition, none of the warmth in his eyes that is usually reserved for me. I open my mouth a couple of times, but finally shake my head. "I've just, heard of you," I lie, rather unconvincingly. I can't stop staring at him. He's so much like I remember, The short choppy brown hair, the grey, storm tossed eyes, the small full lips, everything is the same about him. Except, he doesn't seem to recognize me. The Squall I remember would never have acted this way, even if he hated me. He just stares patiently back at me, so typical of him.  
  
I swallow a couple of times. "I don't suppose you've...been to the beach lately."  
  
He shakes his head. "I haven't been for as long as I can remember, which isn't that long."  
  
I narrow my eyes at him. "What does that mean?"  
  
Squalls taps his forehead. "Amnesia."  
  
Fuck, I should have known. The plane crash, no Squall, fuck. I sweep past him, almost knocking him down on my way out the door. The dog follows me out, and I grab him b the collar and toss him back. I yell out to know one in particular, "Tell the movers to put my shit wherever!" and slam the door behind me. I think I need to go for a very long drive.  
  
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'` '`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`' Welp, that's it, the first chapter. Hope it's basically what you hoped for, Ruth (and of course, the other readers out there :D) once again, have a nice day, and.. *sings* put a smile on, put smile on, everybody come on! Put a smile on... lol, gotta love McDonalds :P 


	2. Dinner Out

Disclaimer: FF8 and all the components are still not mine, although I'm now starting up a club. The goal of said club is to storm the Final Fantasy headquarters and hold all the game creators hostage until they make FF8 the way it should be, with Rinoa getting lost in the end and Seifer and Squall getting the major smooching in. Heck, forget Rinoa. Let's just skip to the smooching ^_^ So.. Who's with me? Oh right... Boco Burger belongs to whoever it belongs too, so there ya go :D  
  
Warning: Language (naturally), mild Rinoa bashing (of course), and most obvious is a highly confused/pissed Seifer ^^  
  
Okay, wow, Ruth's birthday was what, two months ago? Sorry and all ^_^; Hopefully the pace will quicken up now, but I guess we'll see :-) Oh, and I guess we can all thank Sukunami for even getting this chapter here as 'fast' as it was. Thanks :D  
  
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`''`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`". . . And you're positive it was him?" Irvine looks at me from his seat at the table, his eyes going back and forth as he follows my pacing form.  
  
I make an unconscious growling noise in the back of my throat as I turn on him. "Yes, I'm positive it was him, for the fiftieth fucking time today. Any other stupid questions you'd like to ask while we're at it?"  
  
Irvine shrugs. "No, but if you'll just calm down I might have a bit of advice for you."  
  
I glare at him, and then yank a chair out from under the table and fall into it. I stare at him pointedly.  
  
He smiles lazily. "Okay, so, without you talking, allow me to try and assess the situation okay?" He notices me about to speak and hastily holds up a hand to stop me. "That would be a rhetorical question. So you go to the dorms, see him, and run off without even bothering to hear the rest of his story? Did you even ask him how he was doing or anything? It would seem to me that if you want to get close to him again, make him remember, as it were, you might want to befriend him. I know from what you've told me that if I were Squall, I would think that you were more or less insane, never mind the fact that he probably thinks you knew him at some point." He leans towards me, his eyes filled with a strange twinkling light. "Now, what I think you should do is go back there, make friends, and whatever you do, try not to let on that you used to know him with your words, use actions. If he's going to remember you then he'll remember you, simple as that. And, if he's named a 'big stupid fucking dog' after you, then he can't have forgotten everything, correct?"  
  
I answer grudgingly. "Correct."  
  
He leans back and pounds the table with his fist. "Exactly! So, what are you still doing sitting here?"  
  
I cross my arms and look at the table. "I don't want to go back."  
  
Irvine raises an eyebrow. "Ah, is big bad Seify afraid?" He obviously means it as a joke, until he catches sight of my face and snort laughs. "Oh Hyne, you are afraid, aren't you?"  
  
I scowl at him and he begins laughing, almost to the point of being hysterical. I roll my eyes. "I'm not afraid, I just don't want to go alone, okay? So you can shut up now." And I mean it too, it's just a little bit too overwhelming for me to finally see my ex-lover all happy with a fairy book girlfriend. I mean fuck, they even bought a dog together.... In all the possible reunions I imagined, this was definitely not one of them. How am I supposed to help it if I'm feeling a tad bit insecure?  
  
His laughter begins to taper off slowly, and finally he gets a hold on himself. "So, if I go with you, will you go and try to take my advice?"  
  
I decide to take a page out of Squall's book. I stand and turn while muttering a 'whatever', and head for the door. I hear Irvine stand with a laugh, and then the jangle of car keys as he snatches them off the counter. He whistles as he passes me and unlocks the doors for us. As I climb in he grins at me. "Let's go befriend us a Squall, shall we?"  
  
I scowl at him, but the man is obviously unaffected by the look. The shortish ride to the dorms is rather silent, aside from Irvine's cheerful whistling. I spend the time with my arms folded across my chest by staring at random pedestrians. Some might call the expression on me face pouty, but I prefer 'Glare of Death'.  
  
When we get to the dorm gates Irvine slaps me, not very friendly either, in order for me to give him my access card. I hand it to him after a brief struggle of getting it out of my pocket, and he grins at me as he reaches out and swipes it through the swiper thing. The gate makes a beeping sound and then swings open, at which Irvine starts the car up and drives slowly though the dormitory parking lot. He parks directly underneath my second story dorm and, after pausing to shut the door carefully, races up the stairs. I take a moment to utter a death wish upon him before following at a more sedate pace. I, unlike the cowboy wannabe, am not in any particular hurry to rush in and see Squall all content with his new girlfriend.  
  
The door opens, amid much loud barking, after the third knock on the door. Squall throws a familiar slightly confused glance at Irvine before standing aside and letting us through. The huge Dog, who I refuse to refer to by its idiotic name, regards me for only a moment before heading for Irvine. My dark mood is temporarily broken at the sight of the Cowboy on tippy toes, staring down at the Dog, whose head is firmly positioned in Irvines crotch. Amazingly the man gives a true smile and says, "he must smell my cat."   
  
Squall mouth hints at the barest of smiles as he yanks the Dog off of Irvine, who immediately holds out his hand. "Hey! I'm Irvine, a reluctant friend of Seifers. And you are...?"  
  
I roll my eyes at Irvine's innocent act as Squall accepts the offered hand and shakes it firmly. "Squall Leonhart."  
  
I almost have a heart attack at Irvines next words. "Hmm," he drawls, entirely too casual, "I don't suppose you would be of any relation to Raine Leonhart, now would you?"  
  
I make a classic slicing motion at my neck behind Squall in order to get Irvine to shut up, but he obviously can't, or won't, take the hint. That stupid fucker... here he is telling *me* not to mention Squall's past, and he's bringing up his mother? I slap my forehead as the conversation continues.  
  
Squall leans forward, obviously intrigued. "I'm not sure. Do you know where I can find her?"  
  
Irvine lazily shrugs one shoulder and then lets it drop while smiling a slow secretive smile. "Sure thing. You can find Miss Raine at the west end of the cemetery off of the old Main Street." He watches as Squall leans back, somewhat crestfallen, before he continues. "You can, however, find her best friend/ supposed lover. I'm sure he would know all about her. Maybe you've heard of him... Laguna Loire?"  
  
Squalls dark eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "The mayor?"  
  
Irvine nods. "The very one."   
  
Squall scrutinizes Irvine carefully and then nods. "I'll go talk with him tomorrow. Thank you."   
  
Irvine touches the brim of his ridiculous cowboy hat. "No problem at all."  
  
Squall then turns to me, still holding onto the panting Dog. "I wasn't sure where you wanted it, so I told the movers to put your things in your room for now."  
  
I mutter a 'thanks' and groan mentally as I picture having to find a place for all my things in this cramped dorm.   
  
Irvine obviously feels my pain, because he comes up and throws an arm around my shoulder. He winks at us. "Okay friends, here's the plan. First I'm gonna take y'all out to lunch, or dinner, which ever you feel like eating. Then we're gonna come back here and I'm gonna help old Seify find a place for his ancient junk."  
  
I glare at him. "It is *not* ancient junk."  
  
"Suuure it isn't, love." He flashes me a patronizing smile, and then turns back to Squall. "So, what say you to the plan?"  
  
Squall frowns. "Rinoa will be here in an hour and a half."  
  
Irvine snorts. "Oh please, that's plenty of time. Grab your coat, I'm buying. I'll see y'all down at the car." And, that being said, he turns and leaves. Squall turns to me, a dark eyebrow slightly raised in question.   
  
"Does he do that often?"  
  
I nod my head. "All the time, and that's not even the half of it."  
  
He nods and leaves, leaving me to get the door. I wave at the Beast on my way out. "Later mutt." The dog woofs after me.  
  
The ride is a short one, the dorm being surprisingly close to the business area of town. The only trouble we had was figuring out exactly what kind of food we wanted and where to eat. Irvine voted for Hooters, but Squall and I vetoed that idea fairly quickly. Eventually we decided on Boco Burger, a small restaurant with excellent food but somewhat scary decorating. I mean come on, they have little plastic chocobos dancing in big bowler hats on every table. What's not to be afraid of?  
  
Irvine slides into a seat without bothering to grab a menu. Selphie drags him here often enough that he probably has the whole thing memorized. Squall sits in the booth across from Irvine, and I groan at having decide who to sit by. Irvine snickers quietly at my discomfort, and Squall ignores me while staring dubiously at the picture of the big cartoonish yellow chocobo in suspenders displayed on the front of the menu. I look between the two of them before resorting to old fashioned measures: ye old 'eeny meenie miney moe' game. My mental finger ends up on Squall and so I sit next to him, doing my best to make as little contact as possible.  
  
The brunette doesn't seem to notice me as he opens the menu and scans the interestingly named selections, and so I relax as much as possible, trying not to let on to the fact that I'm trying my hardest to get a whiff of his shampoo. Apparently though I'm not quite as stealthy as I believed, because he turns to me with scrunched eyebrows. "Do you have a cold?"  
  
I stop sniffing and mutter a 'no'. Thankfully the day is saved by the twenty something waitress who comes to take our orders.   
  
Irvine makes a big show of checking her out as he orders his Root Beer and Bokodog (the Boco Burger's variation of a hot dog), but I know that he'll never act on his impulses aside from some serious flirting. Not only is he incredibly faithful, Selphie would have his head if she thought he was cheating on her. Squall orders a Boco Burger and his customary glass of water, a drink that I loved to tease him about in the beginning of our relationship. I never really stopped messing around with him until the day I found myself soaked to the bone, thanks to him throwing the glass at my head.   
  
The waitress finishes scribbling down their drinks and looks at me expectantly.  
  
"I think I'll just have a Coke, no ice, please."  
  
She scrunches up her eyebrows. "I'm sorry sir, did you say 'no ice'?"  
  
I look at her and nod. "Yes, no ice, thank you."  
  
"Whatever floats your boat, sir." She shakes her head and walks away with a slight shrug of her shoulders.  
  
I look back to my dinner companions and find them both staring at me with an odd look. I frown defensively. "What? It's not like it's the end of the world or anything."  
  
Irvine whistles. "You'd be surprised."  
  
We spend most of the time in silence, the only real noise being in the form of Irvine's whistling of that stupid song, 'Eyes on Me'. Honestly, it does get old after a while. The food finally comes, and the other two eat while I swish my drink around in my Choko-Cup. Irvine doesn't bother to discriminate and just eats french fries and Boco Dog mixed together, whereas Squall carefully alternates between his Boko Burger and the stringy potato sticks.  
  
"So, Squall," Irvine coughs to clear his throat, "how exactly did you get joined up with Caraway Law? You don't look nearly old or stuffy enough to be a board member."  
  
Squall smiles faintly. "I'm only a junior board member, and I signed with the company as a favor to Mr. Caraway."  
  
Irvine leads forward, eyebrow raised in question. "What did you owe him a favor for?"  
  
Squall looks around discreetly, and his voice unintentionally lowers. "Mr. Caraway was the man who helped me after I first woke up with amnesia. He found me the best doctors to treat my wounds and is doing everything he can to help me find my past life."  
  
Irvine makes an 'ahh' sound. I snort. "And of course you gained his daughter in the process."  
  
Irvine tried to shoot me a 'cool it' message with his eyes, but I ignore him. Squall frowns. "Rinoa was the one who found me originally, although I imagine it was an accident. She really is a lovely person, once you can get past the ditziness."  
  
I huff. "I'm sure." Ditziness, says he; plain idiocy, says I.  
  
Both of them soon begin a heated conversation about something or other, with Irvine punctuating random points with french fries. I don't really bother to listen to the words, and instead focus on the sound of Squall's voice. I really shouldn't be upset over Rinoa, I mean, he's happy with her, right? And Squall is usually a good judge of character, so she can't be *that* bad, unless his accident did more to his brain than cause amnesia. But damn it, he's supposed to be with me. I sigh.  
  
I don't know how long I'm lost in that track of thought until I feel a jab in my side. I reflexively growl out "watch it, Puberty Boy", before realizing my error. Thankfully he doesn't comment, although he gives me the strangest look before motioning me out of my seat. I hurry up and move out of the booth, dropping a tip on the table for the waitress, who flashes me a still bemused look on our way out. Honestly, no ice isn't that big of a deal. I give her an annoyed glare on the way out, and she at least has the decency to look chagrined.  
  
The ride home is spent with all of us lost in out own thoughts, except for Irvine, who sings along with the radio at the top of his lungs. Thankfully the idiot has a good voice, or I would have thrown him out the window a long time ago.   
  
When we get to the apartment we find Rinoa waiting for us outside the door. She glances at Irvine, who promptly introduces himself, and then rounds on Squall. It was probably something about how he was supposed to be here for her and she was cold and she was worried... blah blah blah. Honestly lady, who gives a shit.   
  
Squall opens the door, thanks Irvine and me for dinner, and then he and Rinoa retire to their room. A few seconds later the door reopens and the dog is shoved out, most likely Rinoa's doing. The dog growls half heartedly and then flops down on the couch, not even wagging his tail at us. Hn, I know exactly how he feels.   
  
The next several hours are spent in a whirlwind of activity, Irvine and myself racing against time to unpack my belongings. Or, at least, I'm racing against time. Irvine prefers to follow at a sedate pace, every so often holding up an item at random and asking if it's something I *really* need to keep. I put up with it until he holds up my gunblade, a weapon I designed and built back in my school days. It's not until I threaten to shove the half sword, half gun weapon where the sun doesn't shine that Irvine finally gets to work. Most of my stuff stays in my room, but some of the stuff, mainly pots and pans, is banished into the kitchen. When we finally finished we're both hot, sweaty, and incredibly tired. Irvine and I shake hands, and then he leaves, half stumbling on his way out the door. I see him out and then return to my room, flopping down onto the freshly made bed without even bothering to get under the covers.  
  
I've just reached a perfect comfortable position when I hear the worst thing I could possibly hear at this moment: the stupid dog whining and scratching at the door. I pull a pillow over my head in hopes that it will go away, but due to some strange factor the noise only seems to get louder. Finally I jump up and throw open the door with full intentions to smack the dog, or something, when I hear a feminine moan from Squall's room. I scrunch my eyebrows together, not sure I heard right, and then have to fight a wave of nausea as it come again. I look down at the dog. "Fine, Mutt, you can come in just this on...."  
  
The dog pushes past me and makes a flying leap onto my bed, where he promptly splays his body across the center (on top of the blankets, no less), and then pants at me.  
  
I shut the door quietly, trying desperately not to think of what Squall can be doing to produce those sounds, and turn to glare at the dog. "Okay, listen up, you stupid Mutt. If you're going to be sleeping here, there will be rules. Rule number one: That is not your side of the bed." I point to the left side, the one closest to the wall. "*That* is your side of the bed. Rule number two: no panting, no drooling, no kicking in your sleep. Rule three: that is *not* your pillow."  
  
The dog, who had miraculously moved to his side of the bed, had then decided to lay down on my pillow. I walk to the bed and wrestle the pillow out from under him, then place it resolutely where my head will go. This time I actually have the energy to pull out the covers. Unfortunately, when I do so, the dog figures that he's going to join me. He stares out at me from under the blankets and whines. I glare, and then slide in next to him. He snuggles against me and places his paw over my back while yawning widely. I roll my eyes. "Whatever Mutt. Let's get this straight right now- rule number four: You are definitely *not* Squall." The dog growls lightly and then falls asleep. I stare at him for a while, deciding on a love/hate relationship with the beast, before I follow him into that wonderful realm of painless unconsciousness. I need all the rest I can get... tomorrow I make Squall remember.  
  
'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`''`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`  
  
Random notes from B.S: Okay.. Yes... I know, crappy chapter ^_^; I blame it on this stupid cold *sniffle* Oh well, I worked with it a lot, and I suppose for now it will have to do. Maybe later after I get some more inspiration I'll redo it. Hn, in that case, I don't suppose it's *that* bad... =P  
  
Faery-of-Fiction: thanks for the review ^_^ Gah! Thanks for reminding me to add 'AU' .. I always forget =P Yup, poor Seifer... and it can only get worse from here! If only I can get my Groove back ^^  
  
Redrum: Gwa ha ^_^ but at least you were forewarned, rather than reading the whole thing until the point and then chewing me out =D I, for one, am happy about this ^^  
  
Wind Chime Bells: Whee! Nice to see you back and reviewing my happy little fics =P I was going to review your new chapters but I was grounded for... various reasons. Yes, that's a good way to put it =P So that's on my list. Actually, I think I'll bump it to the top. Yes, that's the Master Plan ^_^  
  
Kris: Sure ^_^; As long as you don't mob me =P thanks for reviewing ^^ 


	3. Of Shampoo and Tempers

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy belongs to Squaresoft, or Square Enix, or whatever personality they're going through at this point in time.

Warnings: Language, evil Laguna temper, bad writing, and whining on the part of big bad Seifer A. Cool.

8/27/04 . . . fixed formatting

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Okay, after years and years of experience, I think I've found the second worst thing to wake up to in the entire world (after alarm clocks, of course): dog 'kisses', followed by nasty my-loving-Hyne-have -you-never-heard-of-or-used-a-toothbrush doggy-breath. And what could possibly be worse than that? It's five in the fucking morning.

Upon opening my eyes I immediately gag and cover my delicate olfactory regions with my hand, and shove the Beast off of my bed. The stupid mutt then walks to the door, plants his ass down, and whines in that pleading way that just dares you to say 'no'. I try to ignore him, but the endeavor is lost when he turns those big brown puppy eyes on me. I shake my head at him, but give in. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I lift my arms towards the ceiling, allowing my spine to cheerfully realign itself with a nice cracking noise. Then I sit there for a moment, staring at the dog. When the beast finally gets the point that I'm not going to move he comes over to me, plops down, and whines in what almost sounds like words. I smirk at him, feeling that I've proved the point of my superiority, then realize that I've declared war on a dog. I sigh at my pathetic excuse of an existence and get up to let the dog out. He bounds to the glass door and whines once again to be let out on the balcony. Normally I would let him think about it for a minute, but I'm feeling generous today. I stumble to the door and undo the catch, although it admittedly takes a couple of tries thanks to my bleary half awake vision. Finally the door swings open and the mutt runs past me and immediately makes himself at home in his....

"Oh Hyne, please tell me that's not a giant litter box..." I cover my face with my hand and shake my head, then drop the position as I realize it's one of Squall's.

"Actually, it is." Speak of the Devil. I turn around to face Squall, who is thankfully not accompanied by the demon bitch from hell, and who more thankfully doesn't look like he just got over a relaxing night of sex. Sometimes I think Hyne for this man's impeccable habits, and this time is no exception. Even with it being five in the morning, the man is already dressed in his typical day clothes, and I wouldn't be surprised if there had been a shower in the mix.

There is the typical scraping sound of litter being thrown over poo, and then the Beast races indoors to greet his master. Squall scratches the dog's ears and then turns to the kitchen. I follow him and promptly fall into a chair, laying my head on the table. I follow the beauty with my eyes as much as my limited range of vision will allow. I can tell from experience almost exactly what's going though his mind. Let's see, now he's doing his dandiest to think of something to say to me... yup, he's doing the eye thing, that means he's thought of something interesting and has decided to pursue it farther... whoops, there goes the sugar. That means he's totally forgotten I exist and is now lost in Squally-Land. I would get up and sweep the sugar, but my muscles feel like lead. I decide on the much more comfortable approach of drooling on the table as I plan out my battle strategy.

So yesterday he told Irvine he was going to visit Laguna (A.K.A. his father... Irvine, you idiot.), which means that I'll have to get down there first and explain the deal so Laguna doesn't immediately go into his typical hysterics and assume that Squall is still Squall. Hn, Laguna... maybe the old man wouldn't mind helping me out a bit on this one. He's the Mayor for a reason, right? So all I need to do is talk with him and he'll help me orchestrate a Master Plan. Yup.. A Master Plan. Great. Now all I need to do is have a bubbling cup of Java to get me motivated, and I'll be all set.

Suddenly there is a bright light from above, and a steaming cup of coffee is stuck in front of my face. For a moment I consider this religious miracle, and then realize that Squall is standing right in front of me. I tilt my head up, and up (damn, he looks tall from this angle....), until get to his expectant face.

"Nng..." I groan intelligently and straighten in the chair, wrapping my freezing hands around the warm company coffee mug. He sits across from me and sips his coffee, obviously holding a conversation with me in his head. I taste my coffee and wait for the opportune moment to join in. Three, two, one... "Yes, I prefer my coffee like this, thank you for asking."

The moment of surprise on his face is worth it, and I mentally thank myself for learning to speak the unique mental language that is Squallese. He regains his composure quickly. "I didn't ask."

I nod wisely. "Maybe not, but you were thinking it, weren't you?" He shrugs an affirmative. I let out a mental evil laugh, along with an eyebrow waggle. On the outside though I only let out a smirk. He frowns at me, but not in a displeased way. More of a thoughtful, Squally type way. He takes another sip of coffee.

"So," he begins, "What were you thinking about?" For a moment I am dumbfounded. Squall- Squall Leonhart, none the less- just voluntarily asked a thought provoking question. Damn, he must have hit his head harder than I thought.

Oh crap, he's waiting for an answer. "Oh, nothing," I say airily, "I was just formulating a Master Plan." He gives me his I-just-mentally-raised-an-eyebrow-in-your-direction stare, and I shrug. "Nothing much. So, what's on the agenda today?"

Shrug. "Nothing much." I take that to mean that I'm free to do whatever the hell I want.

I get up and dump the last drops of my coffee in the sink and put the cup in the dishwater. "Welp," I say to my small audience, "I'm going to take a shower and then head out on town, if that's all right."

Squall nods. "Oh, Seifer. Do you know when the Mayor is open to the public?"

I smirk at the way he phrased the question, but decide not to say anything. Let's see, Laguna allows public and private hearings beginning at seven, so... "Ten. And he may be late, he's not too reliable, as far as public officials go."

He nods and goes back to his coffee, and I breath a sigh of relief. There, now there should be no chance of me and Squall accidentally running into each other. With a spring in my step I step into the small bathroom and perform the basic duties of manhood. A pleasant shower and a quick shave later I'm ready to go. I find Squall on the balcony, cleaning up after the Dog's latest defecation stunt. I stare for a moment at his lovely ass and grin at old memories. They only last for a moment though; I don't think this Squall would be pleased to turn around and find himself face-to-face with my hard on. I quickly turn to less exciting thoughts.

"Sooo, I didn't know dogs were allowed here."

He doesn't even turn. "They're not." He thinks about that for a minute. "That's why Seifer has a litter box. He's not allowed to defecate on the lawn."

Well that explains a lot, although I believe he used the dog's name on purpose. Wonderful, now the great Seifer Almasy is pouting. What-fucking-ever. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

He shakes his head, hesitates, and then nods reluctantly. "Shampoo?"

I grin. "No prob." He nods, and I finally leave, whistling a jaunty tune as I exit. This shampoo is a perfect step in making him remember, considering I know exactly what his favorite kind is. And it is most definitely not what he is using. Honestly, the Squall I knew wouldn't have been caught dead wearing blueberry scented shampoo like he is now, I can tell you that for sure. Something tells me that Rinoa probably had a say in that. Well Miss Rinoa, sorry to say, but Seifer Almasy is back, large, and soon to be in charge.

The car clock says it's only six forty five, so I stop in at one of those 24 hour drug stores and purchase a bottle of Dr. Odine's Most Marvelous Hair Medicine, a lovely coconut scented concoction that I haven't allowed myself to even think of since it was obvious Squall wasn't coming back. Now denied that restriction, I open the top and take a large heavenly whiff, which earns me a glance from an old lady in the next aisle. The powerful scent fills my lungs, giving me a heady feeling. Oh yeah, that's the stuff. I take my purchase to the check out counter, and the half asleep girl on duty has the audacity to ask if I'm feeling alright. I suppose I can forgive her just this once. "Lady," say's I, "I haven't felt this good since Chickie choked on his hot dog at the last Balamb Independence Day event." Hn, let her puzzle over that one for a while. I flash her my best Seifer Almasy smirk on the way out, just to make up for my odd behavior. My last sight is of her practically swooning. Now to the Old Man's place.

I swear, for someone who doesn't even know his way around the town he's supposed to be in charge of, this man is one lucky bastard. He lives in this huge (understatement) mansion, complete with acres of property and a whole freaking lake in his back yard. At one point he decided that the house was to big for him to live in by his lonesome, so he invited a couple of his advisors to stay there with him (they each have their own separate wings), and he allows the public to hold council meetings there in his ground floor oversized ballroom. His advisors, Kiros and Ward, have been friends with this idiot for years, and only Hyne knows why. They like to make fun of his social status, even going so far as to jokingly rename the beach of Balamb as 'Laguna Beach'. He got them back though by placing whoopie cushions under their seats during a diplomatic press conference. Unfortunately the fool gave himself away by bursting into hysterics when the loud noise echoed throughout the room. So far as I know the two are still planning their revenge.

I am admitted into the mansion by a young looking man in a stuffy looking suit. He seems new, which isn't surprising. Laguna hires practically everyone who comes to him looking for a job. Unfortunately he hasn't realized yet how to fire people, and so personally employs a good percentage of the town. The young man directs me to the foyer, and then bows himself out of the room. Damn, looks like somebody's training these idiots nicely.

I don't have very long to wait before I'm surprised by a big hug from behind. It almost feels like someone's trying to perform the heimlich maneuver on me and, unfortunately, said 'someone' doesn't miss my slight gasp of surprise. Laguna releases me and steps back with a grin. Crap, now the whole time I'm here he'll have silly expression on his face thanks to the fact that he 'got' me. But he is, of course, too mature to admit the fact. He waves me into his grand corner office, which was set aside specifically for work. Unsurprisingly he has a mini golf set in the center of the room and a miniature basketball hoop hanging from the back of the door (the scooter is thankfully hidden in the closet). Seriously, for a man of his age and stature, I'm firmly convinced that Laguna is just 'specially abled' or something. As if to prove my point, he collapses into his favorite bean bag chair and invites me to sit from the one across from him. I do have to admit though, as I sink into the mound of beans, it just can't get much more comfortable than this.

He smiles, amazingly showing every sparkling tooth in his mouth. "So, Seifer, what brings you here? It's only been, what... a year and a half? Two years?"

I picture myself doing one of those anime sweatdrop type things. "Yeah, old man, something like that."

He frowns at me. "Coincidentally, it's been one and a half to two years since I played a good game of Clue."

I groan on the inside. It was just my luck that during one of my earlier visit s here with Squall I happened to mention the fact that I liked the movie 'Clue'. Before I could blink Laguna had the game set up and was challenging me with the usual boast of 'I am sooo totally going to kick your ass at this game'. Needless to say, he lost. As it turns out, it was actually the first time he had ever lost the game against anyone, and so I officially became his Clue opponent. Not a bad waste of fifteen minutes, really, plus I got to wear the plastic 'Winner's Crown' every time I won (which was about seventy percent of the time).

I wave at him with a weak smile. "Sorry old man, but as much as I would like to beat you down at the game, I have bigger news."

At this he leans foreward, and by the expression on his face it's almost possible to see his as the mercenary he was and as the mayor he became. "Squall?"

I nod the affirmative. "Squall."

Laguna immediately jumps up. "Well where the hell is he?" He then proceeds to glare at me suspiciously as if thinking that I had Squall tucked in my back pocket or something.

I breath out. "You might want to sit down, old man. Things are somewhat.. complicated."

Laguna sits slowly back on his bean bag, only slightly easing the hard glare. "Is he dead?" He says it in a dangerous monotone, and I wince.

"Not quite," I say, holding up my hand to stop Laguna from speaking. "Apparently when Squall crashed in that plane his head got pretty fucked up. He's got some kind of Amnesia or something. He doesn't remember who I am, and even some o his mannerisms are totally different."

Laguna frowns. "Amnesia? Don't they have treatments for that? And where the hell is he?"

I shrug. "Apparently not. He's staying at the dorms at Caraway Law; he's one of the junior board members there." I snort. "He's my fucking roommate. How's that for irony. Apparently Caraway's daughter found Squall, so now she and Squall are going together."

Laguna seems to explode. "What?! What do you mean he's staying with fucking Caraway? James Caraway? That idiot can't even tell his ass from his face! How is he supposed to take care of my son, and why didn't he tell me Squall was alive? He knows who the hell he is! And how can Squall be dating that whore of a woman? Doesn't he know that she's slept with every young man in town that would have her? And another thing! Why didn't fucking Caraway tell me he was alive?! I'm going to go there right now and tell that pompous son of a pig's ass exactly what I think of him! Oh ho, just wait until I'm done with that piece of shit!" He rounds on me. "You!"

I scrunch my eyebrows. "Me?"

He nods rapidly. "Why the fuck didn't he tell me Squall was alive?"

"I, uh, I have no idea, Sir."

Laguna let's out an honest to Hyne growl, and I'm forced to duck as his cell phone goes flying where my head was a second ago. I wince as it hits the far wall and breaks into several little plastic pieces. He stalks in front of me and glares up. "Well you fucking should."

I whistle mentally. So this is where Squall gets his temper... damn. I raise my eyebrows in surprise as Laguna picks up a pointy paper weight and glares at it, and then run and grab his hands as I realize it's about to follow the path of the cell phone.

"Laguna!" He thankfully stops and looks up at me.

"Now what the fuck do you want?" I start to answer, when he looks down at my hands on his. "And don't touch me. I'm mad at you right now."

Wow... now that is a line I've heard from Squall more than once. I promptly release the old man for fear that he may also punish the offense as painfully as his son does. Seriously, a knee in the nuts is no laughing matter. I step away and, out of habit from my good old army days, I stand with my back ramrod straight. "Sir, I just wanted to say that Squall would be dropping by later. And sir, if I may venture to say, I don't think he'll want to see this side of you. First impressions and all, sir." Laguna looks up at me, still with a death glare in his eyes, and I perform the basic army salute for lack of anything better to do.

Suddenly he seems to deflate. "I suppose you're right. Thanks, Seifer." He surveys the mess he made and rubs the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. "And, um, sorry about that."

I shrug, although still half scared out of my mind. I tried to explain one of these episodes to Irvine once, and the cowboy just laughed at me. I assume it's one of those things, where 'you just have to be there'. Unfortunately though, I'm the one that usually is there. "No problem, sir."

He gives me a weak version of his typical smile and then proceeds to start tidying up his room. I raise an eyebrow. "Um, sir, shouldn't you have some of the hired help to clean that up?"

Laguna shrugs from his position on the floor. "I don't want them to think they're my slaves or anything. Besides, it's easy to clean up."

I shake my head at the man while refraining to tell him that he's kind of depriving the lazy ass's of their job. "Well sir, I guess I'll be going now."

He stands with a grunt and shakes my hand firmly. "Thank you Seifer, and stop by again soon, okay? I almost feel like I've lost two son's instead of one."

I smirk at him. "Sure thing, old man. Maybe next time I come over I'll be able to kick your ass in a game of Clue. Hasta." With that I exit the room with a smile, leaving the spluttering Mayor behind me. I think it's time to pay a visit to Selphie, to see if she's up to making dinner tonight. Hn, wonder if she has any recipes for roast dog.

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B.S.: And thus, a sad, sad, sad and pathetic chapter. But hey, at least it's another chapter And hey, we brought in one of my favorite characters (Who happened to be totally OOC, but what gives.). Oh right, I forgot to mention above: Laguna Beach belongs to whoever it belongs to. Out of curiosity, does anybody else ever feel like putting little 'faces' by what characters say? I always want to put little '-.-' or '' after Seifer's comments and then have to go back and erase them all after I realize I accidentally put them in =P

About Seifer, the dog: sigh Redrum, Faery of Fiction... get your heads out of the gutters .- No, Seifer and Seifer will have no 'time' together (or maybe..) laugh Glad people seem to like the stupid mutt though.

Wind chime Bells: (yo!) Yup, Seifer has some severe human characteristics. But to be fair, he is based on a couple of real dogs that I know, so the actions are definitely dog-like. By the way, the scene where Seifer lays on top of the bed, in the center, and then gets under the covers... that's what my sister's dog Maggie does to me every night, and so I figured I might as well use it to piss off Seifer =P

Ruth: Hmm, for some reason I never got the email that says you posted, or I definitely would have gotten back to you sooner! Sorry! Anyways, hope you had fun, and here's another teeny chapter for you! ;

Happy Little Bumble Bee: Thanks for reading Always nice to have an appreciative reader type person who wants more chapters .- laters.


	4. Of Kitties and Flashbacks

Disclaimer: Still not mine. shock That's right, people, nothing has changed! Everything still belongs to Ruth and Square Soft (Enix . . .whatever. They're all a bunch of Squares either way).

Warnings: Language, attempt at humor situations, and basically a whole lot of nothing .- Just kidding.

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(_7 hours later_, _still Seifer)_

I growl out a curse and pull on the Dog's leash to the point where I think I'm choking him. The Monster takes his time coming back to my side, and then gives me an incredibly hurt look. I scowl back at him . "Oh fuck you. If you don't want to get dragged around then don't fucking stop." And so we continue our walk.

I'm in the worst mood I've ever been in, and this is the worst day I've ever been in. I was going to have Selphie make dinner at the old beach house and invite Squall, but apparently Selphie has some sort of awful cold, and Irvine doesn't think she can make much of anything. Then Squall went to visit Laguna, and when he came home it was obvious from the look on his face that he now knew who his daddy was, and to top it all off, he and Rinoa went out on the town to celebrate. Celebrate what? Their Hyne-damned butt-screwing _engagement_.

Yeah, exactly. Apparently at some point while I was out Squall asked Rinoa to marry him, and I don't guess that it took her more than about a second to give him the affirmative. So she's now sporting a ring bigger than the Hyne damned Hope Diamond, as I found out upon having it shoved in my face at my arrival. Then_ Rinoa_ told me all about it, how romantic it was, how perfect, how she was already planning the wedding. And Squall just stood there the whole time, a vaguely happy look on his face. I imagine that this is the best day of his life, as he knows it. So of course I congratulated them, as best I can.

And you know what else? Squall didn't even like the shampoo that I bought. Not that he said so, but I could tell by his face.

And to add icing to the cake, I get to babysit his stupid dog while they're out. I yank on his collar again, not out of a mistake on his part, but just because I'm pissed and he's handy. I don't think he really minds, and for some reason that really rankles. I look at my watch. Three in the afternoon. _Damn it . . . _

For some stupid reason I decided to take the Dog on a walk, and for yet another stupid reason I decided we should go on a _long _walk. I assume that some greater power must really hate me; the minute we had gone two miles the air turned incredibly chilly, and I'm standing here in a T-shirt and long shorts. So while I'm freezing my ass off, the dog is perfectly fine under his coat of dense hair. And, just to piss me off, he's stopping and checking every telephone pole and tuft of grass that he sees. The going is made even slower by all the children who want to run over and pet the 'huge pretty doggy'. People ask the most ridiculous questions, such as 'does he need a saddle', and 'isn't it illegal to walk a deer'? Even sadder is it was the grown ups asking these things. I think the best comment I've heard so far is 'that's a really pretty collar', from a five year old girl. Argh . . .

We only have about two blocks left when some higher power decides to take pity on me. A cat, more like a little kitten, sees me, and for some reason begins to follow us. I start to kick it away, when I notice the Dog. His ears are pressed tightly against his head, and he's giving a wary look at the tiny kitten. As the kitten advances, the giant dog backs away. I look at him. "Hyne, don't tell me you're afraid of a three pound kitten." The cat comes closer, and the dog whines. I start to roll my eyes, but stop as they get about sky level. An idea starts to form in my mind. I stare down at the little furbag, and nod.

Just then a little boy comes running up and snatches the kitten from where he's terrorizing the Dog. The boy gives me a quick 'excuse me Mister', before squeezing past me and running away with his prize. I glare after him, and then sigh. There are other cats in this town, I just need to find one. The dog, probably sensing my plot with his hypersensitive doggy senses, whines pitifully. Right, Master Plan. . .

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(_Squall_)

I think this has been one of the best days of my life, that I can remember. That man that Irvine sent me to, Laguna, not only knew who my father was, it turns out he is my father. At first I didn't believe him, but then when I looked really close I noticed the similarity of our bone structure, which is enough for me. Plus I don't see how that man could possibly tell a lie. When I left I felt better emotionally than I had in quite some time, albeit quite weary. I think that the man, my _father_, somehow drains energy from those around him and uses it to his own purpose. A weird thing happened though: on my way out, he asked me to bring Seifer in some time. He then turned a peculiar shade of red, and wouldn't tell me how he knew Seifer. He was suddenly very busy, 'official business and all', and told me stop by again so we could chat. I take that to mean, I would drop by, and he would chat. He's like the thing that never shuts up.

Then Rinoa agreed to marry me, which I couldn't happier about. She is really a lovely person, somewhat naive, and of course she has her dense moments, but for the most part I really love her. I can't remember ever feeling about anyone else the way I feel about Rinoa, the way her eyes light up when I tell her I love her, the way the sun hits her hair just right, causing the light to shine off of it in soft waves. And the sex is nothing to sneeze at, either. I sigh as I remember the goodbye kiss she gave me as I dropped her off. It's too bad I couldn't stop in and stay the night in her house (her father paid for it, in full) with her, but I promised Seifer that I would be home at a certain time, and I would hate to have a repeat of what happened the last time I left my dog waiting. I'm also worried about leaving my roommate alone for too long; he seems the type who could cause trouble out of boredom. If he had been born one of Mr. Caraway's purebred dogs he would have probably been shot long ago. Almost a pity he wasn't

I set my jaw as I think about the arrogant blond. He's obviously known me for some time, before my amnesia. I can tell just by the way he acts. It upsets me that he won't tell me how he knows me, but I'm sure not going to ask. Maybe he was a bully in whatever school I went to. He seems the type: loud, annoying, the list goes on. It's like he goes out of his way to annoy me. I can't imagine how else I could have known him. And the way he looked when Rinoa flashed that ring at him, he looked like he wanted to kill her. Literally. But there's something else about him, something I can't put my finger on. I think that if I dig deep enough, maybe I'll find it. But I also think that in his own way he's as good at hiding his feelings as I am. Which doesn't help.

I slip the key into the lock and turn it, blinking at the slight resistance. I'll have to remember to oil it in the morning. Walking into the apartment, I throw my coat onto the kitchen counter, and look around, frowning. Seifer is know where to be seen. I groan, imaging several worse case scenarios involving my roommate losing him 'accidentally on purpose' or even getting him killed. I quickly go through the sparse rooms, and I have to admit that I was quite shocked at discovering his new hiding place- wedged in the shower stall, behind the shower curtain. I frown at him. "Seifer, what are you doing?" He licks my hand, but doesn't move. I'm too tired to try to coax the two hundred pound dog out of the stall. Instead I go off to find the other Seifer and figure out what's going on.

I find the man sitting on his bedroom floor, assembling some kind of plastic box, surrounded by various shopping bags. He seems to be too absorbed in his work, as he doesn't seem to notice my entrance. I step back and knock and the door, giving it three loud bangs. He doesn't seem startled by the noise. Instead he finishes his immediate task at hand, stretches, and then turns to me with a smirk that screams 'Guilty!'. I repress the urge to ask him what he's done, and lean against the doorframe.

"So," I start, "care to tell me why my dog is holed up in the shower stall?"

Seifer raises an eyebrow. "The shower stall?"

I nod. At least I know his hearing is fine.

His smirk deepens. "I don't suppose you have a camera handy?" I raise an eyebrow at him and shake my head. He frowns. "Too bad. This just seems like one of those 'kodak moments' you're always hearing about."

"Whatever. Why is he in there?"

Seifer's smirk lights up again, but he doesn't say why. Instead he rummages around in a large box I hadn't noticed before, and then delicately lifts out an object. I stare for a moment, and then blink. "It's a cat."

Seifer chuckles. "Damn, can't get much past you." He doesn't seem to be put off by my glare. "Righto. Anyways, I thought it would be nice to have one of these little furballs around."

He points the face of the small orange cat towards his own and smiles at it, talking some weird baby talk to it. Obviously my roommate is very pleased with his new buddy. I roll my eyes towards the Heaven, then drop them back to the man.

"They don't even do anything."

He shrugs. "Sign of intelligence."

"They stink"

Another shrug. "Not with my special but way too expensive odor blocking kitty litter."

"The dorm doesn't allow them."

He shakes his head. "I talked with the man in charge. He said it's fine as long as there's no dookie on the lawn."

" . . . I'm allergic."

He looks at me, amused. "Is that honestly the best you can do?"

I bare my teeth at him slightly, then shut my mouth. "Seifer is afraid of them."

His smirk turns into a brilliant smile. "I know. Isn't it great?"

"You . . .know?"

He nods, hugging the cat close to him. "Obviously. Why else would I purchase this little furball of death? Although, I must say that he's grown on me. Oh, right. Your mutt hid in the shower right after meeting Cat."

Well that solves a lot of mysteries. My mouth quirks. "'Cat'?"

He looks at me. "Uh huh, that way we have Dog and Cat."

I frown. Is this guy for real? "The dog's name is Seifer."

He snorts. "To you, maybe." Then he looks at my face. "Fine, what should I name this little kitty of questionable background?"

Well, shit. He would have to ask me that. I stare at the little cat that Seifer is holding up to me. I think about it for a second, then step forward and take the cat. I haven't held a cat since I woke up, so as far as I know I've never held one. Looking around me, I'll have to say that's a good thing.

I'm no longer in Seifer's dorm. Instead I am sitting on a familiar couch that I know I've never seen before. A large grey cat with a squashed in nose in sitting on my lap with his eyes closed. As I stroke his back large rumblings emit from deep within him. _Only I can make him do that._ The thought is there and then gone, but somehow I know that only I can make the cat purr. While affectionate, he is silent around everyone else. I feel his tattered ears, look into his green gold eyes. I can hear somebody, a female, calling behind me, "Where's Griever?"

Then I hear a deeper voice saying, "Check with Squall." The voice is followed by a deep chuckle. The cat jumps off my lap, and suddenly I'm in Seifer's room again.

He gives me an odd look, but I thrust the cat back at him before he can ask any questions. As I turn I just say, "Griever." He asks me to wait, but I leave. I walk quickly to my room, lock the door, and flop onto my bed, ignoring the man's knocking. Instead I bury my face in my pillow, trying to block out all external feelings. _Who was that girl? And why was Seifer's voice in my flashback? If that's what it was. _I curse Seifer for nothing in particular; ever since he has arrived I've been completely out of sorts.

He stops banging on my door eventually, and then shouts something. A few minutes later I hear the front door open and close, and roll over onto my back. I don't want to think about this anymore, about my past. Instead I think about Rinoa and my upcoming wedding to the woman I love.

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(_Seifer_)

I pull into the driveway of the old beach house and kill the engine, and then sit for a minute. The kitten mewls from its box in the seat next to me, and I reach over and tenderly life it out. It tried to crawl up on my shoulder, and I give up after a few attempts to stop him, then get out of the car. I know they'll be awake -the two of them require hardly any sleep- so I don't bother being quiet. A light is on in the house, so I know I'm not disturbing them too much. And, with Selphie being sick, I don't have to worry about them having sex. Thank Hyne.

It takes Irvine a minute to answer the door, and when he does he's clad in a robe and slippers. His confused look dissipates at the sight of me, and he smiles his classic cowboy smile. "Well hey there Seif, come on in." Then he notices the kitty, who happens to be quite at home on my shoulders. "Nice pussy."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

He shuts the door behind me. "No problem."

I walk into the living room, and wave at Selphie, who is buried under blankets on the couch. She lifts her head slowly, and smiles as brightly as someone with watery eyes and a red nose can. "Hey Seif!" I wince at her cold induced accent, then walk over and plant a kiss on her forehead, accidentally brushing the kitten's tail against her nose. The ensuing sneeze is explosive, leaving a fine covering a snot on my face. She looks at me apologetically. "Sorry."

I shrug, grabbing a handful of tissues. "Don't worry about it." I once again thank whoever it was that decided to give me a natural immunity to colds and viruses as I wipe the slimy stuff off my cheek.

I drop into one armchair, and Irvine sits on the couch, positioning Selphie's feet so that they rest in his lap. He begins to automatically massage them. The little kitty curls up on my shoulder and yawns widely. I get the sneaking suspicion that he'll grow up to be a classic fat lazy cat.

Selphie looks at him, her obvious love for animals shining through. So is her frustration over not being able to cuddle the animal. "So," she says, "what have you decided to call the little angel?"

I snort. Her love for animals is a little bit way over the top sometimes. She's got to be the master of sweet talk, spending hours with her 'cuddly bundles of love'.

"Ah," I clear my throat. "It's Griever. Or, I guess it would be Griever the Second, right?"

Selphie looks at me, shocked. "You named your cat after mine?" Then she squeals. "That is so adorable! Thank you Seif, Grieve will love it!"

I look down. "Actually, Squall named it."

Irvine whistles. "So this is the second cat he's named Griever? Sounds like a personal problem . . ." He trails off.

I shake my head. "Third actually." They both look at me. "He used to have a stuffed cat named Griever when he was younger." They 'ah'.

It's true though, after Squall named Selphie's gray rescue cat Griever, I just had to ask. After weeks of prying I finally got him to share the fact that he had a stuffed animal named Griever when he was five. Apparently it met a bad end in a Garbage compressor. Or so he said. While the original live Griever tolerated everyone, it had a real soft spot for Squall, something my ex-boyfriend hated to admit. He pretended to loath the cat, but more than once I caught them napping together, or just playing around.

Irvine starts again. "So what, he just said to name it Griever or something?"

I shrug. "I asked Squall to name him and then let Squall hold him, and then he went into this weird trance type thing. Where he was looking at me, but it was like he was seeing something through me." I shake my head. "Then he just shoved the cat back at me, said 'Griever', and ran to his room. What do you guys think?"

Selphie bites her cheek, and Irvine offers a suggestion. "Maybe he had some sort of memory recollection, and didn't like it. I mean, he's been gone for three years, maybe he's settled into his new life and doesn't want the drama of trying to remember anything before hand anymore." He looks around at me. "I mean, you know how Squall is."

I shake my head again. "I think that he wants to remember some things." Their expressions go from questioning to thoughtful as I tell them about Laguna. They think for a while, while I debate telling them about his engagement. Finally I just come out with it. "Then again, maybe he is ready to move on. With his soon to be wife."

It takes them a moment, but they finally get it. Irvine stares at me slack jawed, whereas Selphie jumps off of the couch, showing the world that she's wearing nothing but a T Shirt, and starts to rage. "That man! I'm going to march over there _right now _and tell him _exactly _what I think of him, and that _hussy_! When I'm through with him he'll regret the day his mother first laid on eyes on his freaking father! And then . . ." As she continues ranting, Irvine just thinks on it.

Finally he says, "maybe you should just tell him about your relationship." He shrugs defensively. "Couldn't hurt."

I give him an incredulous look, and he shrugs again. The fact of the matter is, it _could _hurt, a lot. For both Squall and I. While I'm not happy about his current life, I'm not exactly some monster that wants to destroy him or anything. "I don't know, Irvine." I sigh. "I'll think about it, but I just don't know."

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BS: And here it is, my first update in, well, a long time. Sorry Ruth! I just sat down and wrote this in one sitting, over three hours. It is now two in the morning, and I'm tired. So I'm blaming that as my sucky excuse for this chapter .- Anyways Ruth, I hope you're not too bored!

Also, sorry for the cat's name. I just suck at naming animals, so here you get stuck with yet another 'Griever'. I wonder how many characters are actually named Griever in the FF8 fandom?

Also, about the scene where Squall discovers Laguna is his father- I didn't put it in here because I started to write it in, and it was just long and boring, and it's nothing we don't know. I mean honestly, how many tearful scenes have you read where Squall discovers his father? Maybe I'll put it in a flashback or something later, after I figure out a good way to present it. I think it helps that I'm not very good writing Squall- Seifer is more my forte.

Oh, another thing. I may be updating few and far between, more so than usual, because my mom and step dad are fighting and she might leave him, which leaves me internet-less for a while. Sorry all.

Right, I'll shut up now .-

Wind chime Bells: Thanks for sticking with me here .- Eh, Laguna, what can I say, I was in a mood

Redrum: What can I say, the formatting God's hate me .- Nope, I made that shampoo up. Copyrights are mine . Now I just have to trick someone into using the name so I can sue .- . . .How is it hard to play two person Clue? My sister and I do it all the time, it's just less noisy and takes less time. Anyways, thanks for reviewing again I love your reviews .-

A Happy Little Bumble Bee: Thank you very much! Eh, I hope I didn't scare you off earlier ;

None: thankies And it wasn't soon, but it is an update .-


	5. Sneaking and Suspicions

Warnings: Language, OOC Laguna, Squinoa

Disclaimer. Not mine, never mine

Note: Wanted to get this up quick because I don't know when I'll get another chance. Anyways, here it is, so you be the judge. sigh I need a beta. . . Sadness. Well, hope you enjoy .- Oh, also, I won't be responding to reviews here anymore, because peoples accounts have been being deleted for it. So, email me with any questions or whatever. No need to be shy, but I am kinda slow, so, you're warned

Squall

I sit at the red kitchen table, idly stroking Seifer's head and staring out the window. The morning fog hasn't quite lifted, and the sky is a dead gray color. The still silence that only exists during these few morning hours permeates the apartment. I feel like I'm the only person that exists, like there's nobody else around or alive in the world. Which is ridiculous, because I know my roommate is getting dressed in his room about ten feet behind me,

I lift a cup of coffee to my mouth and take a sip without really thinking about it. I don't particularly care for the taste of coffee, but still it's difficult for me to start a day without it. I make to set the mug back on the table, but I notice that it's already made a wet brown ring on the cheap plastic. I frown at it slightly. Usually I remember to put a stack of napkins down first.

I rise with a yawn and dump the rest of the coffee down the drain, turning on the water to rinse away the residue. When the water runs hot I take a new dish rag from the cupboard and soak it before wringing it out and wiping up my mess. With a sigh I regard the light brown spot on the previously white dish rag, and then toss it into the sink without bothering to rinse it off. If it stains I have a dozen more to replace it, something Rinoa doesn't quite understand. Then again, I suppose she's had maids taking care of her messes since she was born, so it's forgivable.

Suddenly a shout breaks the still calm of morning. "**No**! I said _in_ the litter box! **_In _**the litter box!" Ah, Seifer's first words of the day. I don't imagine it will be long before he makes his presence known.

Unfortunately, my imagination is correct. He stomps out of his room, a look of intense exasperation stamped over his face. With a sound of disgust he drops a paper covered parcel in the garbage can, and I wrinkle my nose. Now I'll have to empty the trash a day early to keep the place from smelling like cat crap.

He turns and drops into his seat. Briefly I wonder if he's capable of simply sitting. He always collapses into the chair, like his legs have suddenly decided to give out on him. Wonder if he realizes he's doing it. My speculation is cut short as he decides to speak to me.

"That damn cat, I swear. . ."

"You're the one that wanted him," I point out.

"Well I _want _him, I just also want him to not take a crap in my best shoes."

"Having problems?"

He snorts. "Just with the litter box. Otherwise he's fine. Slept on the bed last night, in a _civilized _manner," he say's, looking pointedly at the dog during this last part.

"Come again?"

He sits up straight. "Yeah. He just curled up in a corner, no problem at all, whereas I had to fight your stupid Dog for my blankets and pillows. It was actually. . ."

"Seifer was on your_ **bed**_?"

"Well yeah, I didn't see a problem with it at the time. Why, something wrong with that?"

I look the man over for the first time, really look at him. Seifer won't get on my bed, never has, and probably never will. He usually sleeps on the old couch I keep in my room. I've tried everything, from treats to threats and everything in between. "Why would he sleep on _your _bed?"

He blinks, and then says, "Animal magnetism?"

I stand there open mouthed, trying to think of something to say. ". . .but, why you?"

Seifer shrugs. "Try hating him for a while. Should work."

I look over at the dog, who stares up at me without the slightest clue that he's betrayed me, and then back at Seifer. "I thought you hated him?"

At this he makes a disgusted face. "Well yeah, but I couldn't just leave him out there to listen to you and Precious Rin going at it."

The hell? He heard us? My cheeks heat up and I know I'm blushing. It doesn't help that he laughs when he notices, a loud unrestrained baritone. I scowl at him, and turn to go back to my room.

There's a sudden 'shit!' from behind me, and Seifer stands up fast and races for the door.

"...." What?

"Orientation!"

And then he's gone. I had forgotten about this: all new employee's are "treated" to a one on one session with Caraway in which he asks them questions and lectures them on their various duties. About half the newly hired people quit after orientation. Caraway calls it 'survival of the fittest'.

The clock says that it's seven in the morning, so I decide to go back to my room and review a case I'm supposed to be working on. I get to the threshhold, and then stop and turn to look at Seifer's open door. I frown and let the dog into my room, where he jumps on his old blue couch and lies down, taking up all available space. Slowly I walk across the room and pause in front of the entryway. From where I'm standing I can see a large mahogany desk with a silver laptop and a stack of law books. I bite my lip, and then decide what the hell. I step into the room, half expecting Seifer to come back for something and catch me red handed. The danger of getting caught gives me a burst of adrenaline, and I find that I kind of like it.

The room, like mine, is 'L'-shaped. The doorway leads into the top of the 'L', and then the bottom of the 'L' is to my far right. The desk is facing the door at the top, and then there's nothing except for a dresser at the far wall. I know that in the bottom turn of the 'L', the part I can't see, there is a bed and a night stand, maybe with a lamp. Several posters adorn the wall, one of the members of 'Rammstein', one with 'Linkin Park', one with a cute pink cartoon rabbit with a caption under it that reads 'Hi. Cram It.', and one that I particularly like, a large blood red cross that has dragons bursting out of the sides, the red from the cross looking like blood on their bodies. I stare at it for a while, taking in the color differences and the odd looking dragons. Upon closer look I notice a hastily scrawled 'S. Almasy' in the corner. I look at it again, impressed. He's quite the artist then, if he can draw something of this caliber.

Suddenly there's a heavy thudding noise behind me from the bed area. I freeze, expecting Seifer to be behind me, but then realize he wouldn't have been able to make the noise because he would have had to go past me to reach the bed. I turn, more relaxed, and shake my head at the unknowing cat. A heavy book entitled 'Practical Law' lays on the floor where it was shoved by the feline.

"Scared me," I mutter, walking to him. I leave the book where it is, not knowing where Seifer had originally placed it, and kneel next to the bed. The cat begins purring immediately as I scratch behind his ears. His fur is short, a deep orange color with lighter orange stripes. His eyes are like a burning green fire in his head. He looks nothing like a griever. "Griever. . ." I trail off, frowning. The memory, or flashback, or whatever it was I had yesterday is still vivid in my mind. Maybe I'm just imagining things. I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, perhaps. _Except that's a lie. You've never needed more than four hours sleep, and you know it. _'Oh shut up', I snap at my stupid conscience. All right, here's what happened: I really did have this experience in my 'past life', and Seifer was only there because I'd been with him at the time. Simple as that. _You're full of shit, you know. _I sigh. 'Yeah, I know'.

The kitten suddenly wriggles off the bed and races for Seifer's shoes. I smirk as I realize his intention, but I figure I might as well help Seifer. I pick up the cat and place him in the litter box. The cat looks startled, and tried to leave, but I don't let him. Finally he decides he needs to crap before doing anything else, and lets it all loose. He covers it and looks at me warily, probably expecting a repeat of Seifer's performance, but I just lift him out and put him back on the bed. He purrs gratefully as I continue my examination of Seifer's room.

A quick search of the night stand drawers reveals nothing other than a bottle of whiskey and some blank notepads. I sigh with frustration. I _know _that he knows me from before my accident, and there has to be proof somewhere. I'm going to find it.

I drop down and look under the bed, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the light. There are two boxes here. I take note of their positions and grab them out. One is a clear box with a white plastic lid, and there's just old receipts in here. I put it back. The next box is cardboard, and has 'Things to Never Look at Again' written across the top in neat lettering, and underneath that in smaller letters, 'unless dead drunk'.

I open the box carefully, so as not to rip it, and am met with what looks like several notebooks. This is fairly close, but they aren't notebooks though, per ce. There are sketch books with dates on the covers, journals, and a couple scrapbooks. I take out two or three books and am about to leaf through them when I hear a knock on the door.

My adrenaline level spikes. I hastily close the box and shove it under the bed and then run out of the room, blood pounding in my ears, miraculously not tripping. I dash across to my room and stuff the books I'm still holding under my pillow, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Seifer, the dog, follows me to the front door. I wait a second for my heart to stop beating and to catch my breath. _It's going to be him and he'll know and he's going to kill you and . . ._ 'I **know**!', I shout at that damned inner voice. And with that, I open the door.

". . .Rinoa?"

My fiancee smiles widely before throwing herself at me and hugging me tightly. I hug her back, as surprised as I can remember being.

She let's go and stands back. "Do I get to come in?"

Oh, right. I stand back and let her in. Seifer sniffs her and then goes back to my room for his snooze on the couch.

"Daddy gave me a credit card so I decided to go shopping," she say's while dropping her purse on the round red table. "I got you a present, love."

I blink, my heart still trying to calm down. "Oh?"

She smiles. Hyne, I love her smile. I think it's what attracted me to her in the first place, when I woke up in the hospital. She reminds me of a cheerful Mona Lisa. I always think when she smiles that she has a little secret, and she's going to let me in on it. The way her eyelashes lower over her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turn up just enough to make me want to smile back. So I do. I always do, even though it makes my face feel awkward and stiff and out of sorts.

She sways towards me, her hips moving to some silent perfect rhythm. I wonder if she does it on purpose. I don't have time to think about it though, because she holds out a small box to me. I take it somewhat apprehensively. She laughs. "There's no bomb inside. Go on open it, I think you'll like it."

And so I take the lid off and extract a ring box. Oh god, if she's gotten me a diamond ring I'll kill her, I'll kill myself, I'll drop it down the drain, I'll throw it in the ocean like that woman from 'Titanic'. . . I open the box apprehensively, and feel my eyes widen in surprise.

"There! Do you like it?"

"Hyne, Rin. . .it's. . ." _perfect_, is the word that goes through my head. It's silver, and surprisingly heavy for its size. It's a roaring lions head, with a cross extending where the lions body should be, a lot like the necklace I was wearing when I was found wandering the streets and haven't removed since then. The cross wraps around the finger and it ends in the lions mouth. I stare at it, turning it over in my hands.

Rinoa smiles again. "I thought you would love it. It was made to match your necklace. I know that you don't like fancy stones, so I figured it would have to do. It's inscribed on the inside, see?"

I hold the ring close to my face to make out the lettering. _'To My Lion'_. I grin wryly. _'Funny that she would call me that too.'_ The thought springs into my head without warning, and I blink. Why would I think that? Maybe I should take a nice nap, snap my thoughts into some kind of order.

"Thank you Rin."

Her eyes twinkle, and she tosses an arm around my neck while staring deep into my head. I shiver as she runs her free hand lightly over my face and into my hair. Bringing her mouth close to my ear she says quite seductively, "Don't thank me with your words, love," and then smiles at me. Oh Hyne, that damned smile. . .

I swallow and follow her to my room.

Laguna

Damn Caraway all to hell anyways. I slump in the armchair in his plush waiting room, my arms crossed over my chest. I've been here for three hours now, and he's been 'busy' for the duration. I huff loudly. Probably a good thing he's so busy, because when I get through with him he's going to be completely. . . heeeeey, is that an antique cuckoo clock?

I get up and walk across the lobby, cussing as I slam my knee into a corner table. I apologize to the wealthy looking older woman sitting there, and she dismisses me with a 'hmph'. I rub the back of my neck, embarrassed.

But I was right, it **is **an antique cuckoo clock. It's shaped like a bird house, and the pendulums swinging from the bottom have gold pine cones hanging from the end. The roof is painted a dark green, and the numbers arranged in a circle around the door are gold plated. The hour hand hits eleven, and I wait for the little bird to pop out. But the clock doesn't make a sounds or movement. I sigh. Cheap imitation, just like everything else in this building. Cheap imitation leather chairs, cheap imitation sugar for the cheap imitation coffee, cheap imitation encyclopedia's in a cheap glass case, cheap imitation boss.

"Laguna Loire?"

I turn and smile at the sharply dressed attendant. "Yes?"

"Mr. Caraway will see you now, sir."

"About freaking time," I mutter under my breath.

"Sorry sir?"

I wave at her. "Nothing, nothing, sorry."

She nods. "Right this way please, sir."

I follow her, ignoring the scandalized look the rich older woman gives me. We go down several hallways, and step into an elevator. I look at all the buttons, wondering what would happen if I pushed every single one of them. There are just so many: buttons for floors 1-48, Emergency, Alarm, Door Stop, and one with an odd star shaped symbol on it. Hm, wonder what this button does? I reach out my hand to press it, but the elevator stops.

As we step off I ask the lady what it does. "Oh," she says, "when we have children riding the elevator we let them push that button to get it out of their system. It just makes a 'ping' noise."

Ping? I wonder if she'll let me press it on the way down. A button that goes 'ping'. . . fascinating. I'll have to get one for my office. I wonder what kind of 'ping' it makes? A sharp one? A soft one? One like a submarine, maybe?

"**_Sir_**?" The lady asks.

"Aye?"

She stares at me oddly for some reason, and then motions me into a room.

"Laguna Loire, Mr. Caraway."

I sneer at the man. I always hated him, ever since our days in the military. I hate his perfect brown hair, his perfect smile, his perfect clothes. It's so damned perfect I could puke.

"Yes," he says in a brusque, no-nonsense manner. "I know very well who he is." She waits for a second, and then leaves.

He leans back in his expensive executive chair and motions for me to sit across from him. I do, grudgingly, and then scowl at him. He folds his hands over his desk and leans foreward towards me.

"Loire." He says the name with a drip of loathing. "Whatever brings you here on such a . . .fine day as this?"

It's all I can do not to punch the man. I stand up and lean towards him. My hands clutch the edge of the table tightly, so my knuckles turn white. "Caraway. Care to tell me about Squall?"

His mouth twitches, just enough that I would call it a smile. Or possibly a smirk. He stands up and, with his arms clasped behind his back, begins walking around his office. While examining a horribly ugly oil painting he says with a sneer, "Oh, yes. Squall. Nasty bit of an accident he had. You should have seen him, his whole head bleeding, body black and blue. Completely delirious. Rinoa found him wandering the streets, called me immediately. Six weeks in the hospital, he was."

I clench my teeth several times before I can talk. "And I suppose you have a reason for not telling me that my _son_ had been found?"

Caraway tsks at me. "Yes, I heard he had gone to talk with you. Still trying to pull that daddy story, are you?" He laughs scornfully. "You're not his father, and you never will be, Laguna. Get that through your sick head. It's too bad your whore of a sister had to die, at least she knew how to raise a child. Maybe he would have cared about you, then."

I can feel myself grasping the desk's edge tighter. "Don't you **ever** talk that way about Raine!"

"Laguna, Laguna, Laguna. . ." he bends to sniff a flower. "I'm only telling you for your own good. Honestly, did Squall ever call you 'father'? Did you ever get a father's day card from him?" He shakes his head. "Of course not. He never cared about you. I was doing him a favor. He's **happy** now, can't you see that? He's going to marry my daughter, and he'll be happy."

I can feel my head tremble. "Your daughter is nothing but a **whore**, James. She'll fuck anyone who has the money and the inclination. I don't know how you got her to marry my son, but I will NOT allow it!"

He whirls around, eyes blazing. "You **will **allow it, Laguna! What are you going to do to stop it? I'll tell him what a liar you are. You're nothing but his uncle, Laguna. Why don't you tell him who his real daddy is? What a whore his mother was? I hear she was paid for fucking the father. Tell me, is this true?"

I can almost see red. How dare he? What the hell does he want from this? I punch the desk with my fist. "**Hyne**! Wasn't it enough to steal Julia? Can't you just leave me alone? Why do you have to mess up my whole life?"

He looks incredulous. "Heavens, Laguna, are you still on about Julia? It's been eighteen years, for Hyne's sake. Get over it."

"I will **not **get over it!"

"Then I pity you."

"Go to Hell, James. I'm going to tell Squall exactly what you've been up to!"

He smirks. "And I'll tell him you're crazy. He's known you for just a little over a day. He's known me for three years. Me, his kind, caring benefactor, healer of his wounds and father of the girl he loves. Honestly, Laguna. . . which one of us do you think he'll believe?"

I stare at him, and he chuckles. He's right, so horribly right. "Caraway, you. . ."

"Terribly sorry Laguna, time's up. I have to have a one on one with a certain Seifer Almasy." He frowns thoughtfully. "Oh wait, wasn't that the young man that was sleeping with Squall?" He shudders. "How disgusting. Squall is better off with me, I'll wash this homophobia nonsense right out of his system."

My eyes widen. "You know about them?"

"Of course."

"Then why would you put them in the same dorm?!"

A laugh. "I never did like Seifer. Brilliant law student, I'll admit, but what an asshole." He shakes his head. "It just makes it all a little bit more interesting, don't you think?"

I can't even find the words to express my outrage. "What. . .you. . .that's. . ."

"Sir, a Seifer Almasy is waiting in the lobby?" The thin blonde woman that brought me here waits politely.

Caraway goes back to his desk and picks up a folder. "Of course. Thank you, Quistis, please show him up immediately." She nods and turns to go. "Oh, and Quistis?"

"Sir?"

"Bring me some coffee."

"Yes sir."

"And show Mr. Loire to the door."

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"

He grunts something and waves her off.

I lean close to him. "This isn't over, James."

He sneers. "I'm terrified, Laguna."

I narrow my eyes at him, but leave with the young woman. What a fine mess this has turned out to be. . .something needs to be done.


	6. Dinner and Some Books

Warnings: Language, and other stuff

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Happy Birthday again Ruth P

Squall

I sit on the edge of my bed, holding the three books in my hands. Two are regular spiral bound notebooks, the smaller one with dates on the cover, the considerably larger one has a blank black cover and several loose sheets of paper placed inside, and one is a simple leather bound sketchbook with dates and S. Almasy embossed on the spine. I haven't opened them yet, and I wonder if I even should. These are from Seifer's soul, his thoughts and beliefs. I have no right to be doing this, but I have to know. I've been agonizing over it since Rinoa left, turning it over and over in my head. Honestly, what's the worst that can happen? . . .the problem is, there are a lot of things that can happen.

I scowl and shove the books back under my pillow, and stand up. I raise my arms high above my head in a well deserved stretch, and then twist my shoulder blades in hopes of relieving the constant aches that have plagued my body ever since I can remember. As usual, it doesn't help. I sigh, and walk out into the living room. The black couch is slightly off center from where it should be, and I place it back in it's correct position. Seifer probably moved it during one of his collapsing falls. I sigh again. Seifer, Seifer, Seifer. . .

He came home from orientation and went straight to his room, not saying a word to me. Which is probably a good thing, because if it had gone badly he would have been cussing everything in his path. At least I can assume he won't be quitting. I can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing.

I walk around aimlessly, straightening up various items, and find myself in the kitchen. I look around at the clean and tidy room, and frown. There's nothing to clean in here. Now what am I supposed to do? . . .Might as well try to make dinner.

I open the refrigerator and take out a chicken, tossing it in the sink. Grabbing a pan out of the cupboard, I fill it partway with water and set it on the stove to heat. I cut the plastic off the chicken with a knife and toss it in the garbage, and then clean up the little blood spots it leaves behind on the counter. I wash off the meat, and then take out a box of stuffing mix from the cupboard. I survey the instructions twice, and then frown. I thought boxed food was supposed to be simple? Maybe I'll try something else. I search through the cupboards, and come up with a recipe book that a friend of Caraway's gave me when I moved in. Hm. . .these bread rolls don't look too hard. I take out the ingredients and line them up on the counter, frowning at most of them. I never would have guessed that some of these things went into rolls.

Seifer walks in as I'm getting out the cookie sheets. I watch him as he glances over the ingredients, and then he raises an eyebrow at me. "What are you doing?" He asks, something that sounds suspiciously like amusement in his voice.

I scowl at him, but he remains unaffected. "Making dinner."

His amusement disappears, and something that looks like pain flashes across his features. Maybe I imagined it though, because his smirk immediately lifts. "Ah," he says, looking back over the ingredients. "So what's the Sprite for?"

I glance at the green can of soda and raise an eyebrow. "I'm making dinner rolls. The recipe calls for a tablespoon of soda." Obviously.

He grimaces slightly. "Squall, have you ever cooked before?"

". . . sort of." My cooking experience pretty much accounts for those little noodle packages and pouring milk into a cereal bowl, but he doesn't need to know that.

He hums. "Right. Do you mind if I take over?"

I frown at him. "What are you insinuating?"

He smirks again. "I'm not _insinuating _anything. Now, I can cook a delicious chicken dinner for you, or you can end up feeding the garbage can with your food."

I sniff. I seriously doubt that I'm _that_ bad of a cook. "I can do it," I tell him officiously. How hard can it be to make a chicken?

He raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll be in my room, praying to the food Gods."

I watch his leave, slightly stung. I frown at his back, and then turn back to the chicken. I'll show you 'food God', I think to myself. I read the directions over. This shouldn't be hard at all. . . what the hell is tablespoon? Is that the big one or the little one? I look over the silverware, and decide I don't need it anyway. Cup, I know that one. I grab a drinking class from the cupboard and use it to dump flour in the bowl. Honestly, how hard can this be?

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' Seifer

I look up from scratching Griever's ears as Squall stalks into the room. He scowls at me, tight lipped, his scar scrunching between his eyes. "Would you like to eat out?" He asks tersely, glaring in my general direction.

So, his cooking _hasn't_ improved. I laugh at him, shaking my head. "Squallie, Squallie, Squallie. . ." He looks ready to kill me, and I struggle to quit laughing. "Alright. I already made reservations for Sanks. You have forty minutes to get ready- I'm driving."

A look of almost shock spreads over his face. ". . .?"

"Yes, I already made reservations. First of all, the recipe called for _baking_ soda, not cola soda. I didn't exactly have the best feeling about it, alright? It's a fancy place, so dress nice."

He scowls at me one last time before leaving. Well, he didn't say no, at least. I stretch and yawn, deciding to take my own advice and get dressed. As I get up Griever jumps off the bed, his intention obvious. I get ready to yell at him, but to my amazement he walks to the litter box and does his duty. He covers it all up and then hops back up on the bed. I scratch behind his ears and under his chin, astonished, and he purrs. "Well I'll be damned. You're not as stupid as you look." He squeezes his eyes shut, obviously not understanding a word I'm saying. I'm almost amazed to find a broad grin on my face, and immediately wipe it off. Probably a good thing I'll never be a father. I can just imagine what that would do for my reputation.

I dress quickly in dark grey slacks and a maroon shirt, adding a black tie to the ensemble. Simple, yet elegant. I used to wear this to all the fancy military get togethers, and it never failed to receive compliments. Maybe Squall will remember, but I doubt it. I sigh as I look in the mirror. I'm running out of options that will make him remember me, short of tying him down and beating it into him. Even then I doubt he would get it. Maybe I should just tell him. Yeah, Seifer, that would be brilliant. I can just see it now: "Hey Squall, we used to be fuck buddies. Some people even called us lovers." ". . .Did they?" "Yeah, it was great, but then you fell out of a helicopter and busted your head, and fell in love with a simpering slut." ". . .Did I?" "Yup. So, how about another go?" ". . . . ." "Alright, I'll try again next Tuesday." Something tells me that wouldn't exactly work.

I shake my head in disgust, and toss the mirror back on the bed. I rub my temples. This is grating on me a lot more than I thought it would. It's like a sickness, holding it all inside. I wish now that I was still back on that damn beach, waiting for a man who would never show up. It would be so much better than this.

I scowl and stand quickly, wiping the look off before striding towards his room. I walk to his door and knock. "Almost ready?" I call.

There's no response, but the door opens. . . .Fuck. . .I forgot just how good he looks in a suit. The black brings out the stormy grey in his eyes and accentuates his gorgeous figure. He lowers his eyes somewhat shyly, and mutters "I guess I overdressed."

It takes a moment or so for his words to reach me, and then I shake my head. "No, it's perfect." Too perfect. "Are you ready?"

He chews on his cheek for a moment and then nods. He turns around and says bye to his dog, and then shuts the door behind him. He waits while I run to my room for my jacket, and then I hold the door for him as we leave. I'm reminded a lot of the first time we ever went to this restaurant, a long time ago. The dinner was exquisite, and after we got home we had sex for the first time. Hm, that must have been at least five years ago, I think as I unlock the car. Too long.

The ride is very similar to the one we had the last time, except this time there is no Irvine to sing along and lighten the mood. I guess it doesn't matter to Squall though, because he seems to be lost in his own world again. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, and concentrate on maintaining the speed limit perfectly.

When we get there a valet immediately takes my keys, nodding as I remind him not to screw with my car. There's no line today, which is somewhat unusual, but nice for us. The Maitre'd finds us immediately and checks our reservations. "Of course, monsieur,"he states in the classic snobby accent. "And can I take monsieur's coat for him?" I slip off my heavy coat and hand it to him as Squall shakes his head. The man bobs his head at us and, after hanging up my jacket for me, directs us to a secluded table.

The waiter comes over immediately and hands us the menus, offering to take our drinks. Squall orders a water with lemon and I order Coke, no ice. The waiter isn't even fazed. He just says "very European of you, sir. I'll be right back with your drinks."

I look up at the beautiful chandelier above us, trying to think of what to say. It doesn't take long, however, because amazingly Squall starts talking before me. "Seifer," he says hesitantly, ". . .which one is the table spoon?"

I look back at him, eyebrows raised. "Sorry?"

"Well," his cheeks go somewhat pink, "the recipe called for tablespoons of different ingredients, but honestly, they're all spoons, and they're all on the table." He indicates the three spoons on the table. "But they're all different sizes."

His reasoning dawns on me, and I smirk at him. "You can't be serious."

He scowls at the spoons. "... ..."

I shake my head, and spend the next ten minutes explaining all the silverware on the table, everywhere from shrimp fork to soup spoon. He absorbs it all, frowning thoughtfully the whole time. His eyes widen slightly as I tell him what a real tablespoon is, and I can tell he's slapping himself mentally at his mistake.

The minutes following my explanation are silent, but now incredibly awkward. The moment is broken only when the waiter comes for our orders and menus, and then heavy silence falls again. Which is unfortunate, because this restaurant has been known to take almost forty minutes to an hour to get the food to the table.

Squall is having a long internal discussion with himself mentally, and I sigh. This is going to be a very long night.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Squall

Seifer finishes explaining all the spoons, and I scowl at them. Who names these things, anyways? It's a rather misleading name, table spoon. But then again, I can't think of a better name for them. I sigh. I've never been to this restaurant, and from what I've seen to far, it costs far too much money for the meager amount of food that will probably come. Maybe they charge money so they can pay for French lessons for their employees. I don't see why we can't have gone to a simpler place where the food is pronounceable and relatively cheap. At least Seifer is paying.

I trail off that thought and wonder again about the books I have stashed under my pillow. I need to look at them soon, before Seifer realizes they're gone. It said on the box that he wouldn't open it unless dead drunk, but he seems like the type to change his mind without warning. I wonder what could be in them? Obviously drawings are in the one, but I have no idea what they're of. And the others have writing in them, because I could see the lines on the side. Or maybe he draws on lined paper too?

"Squall, snap out of it."

"Alright." And should I even open them? After all, even if it is just drawings, they are his private thoughts. People go to jail for this sort of thing.

"Yo, Squall, are you in there?"

"Where?" Then again, it might have a clue to my past, and it will be easier just to look at his works. Besides, he's an artist, and don't artists like to be understood?

"Hey, Puberty Boy, I screwed around with Rinoa last night."

"Did you?" But it's just wrong! I wouldn't want him going through my things, right? And obviously no one was supposed to see these books. And what if I open them and there's nothing important inside? Or what if it's just drawings of past lovers or something?

"Monsieur, your food?"

"Medium rare." Why is this so hard? I've already taken them, I might as well finish the job, right? And if it doesn't help me find about my past, at least I might learn a little more about my roommate. So, will I do it?

"Squall, it's a fork, not a dagger."

"Yes!" I look down, and am surprised to see my food in front of me. I'm gripping my fork so hard it hurts, and I release it. I look up to find Seifer staring at me with an unreadable look.

"What?"

He starts laughing, hard enough to make people around us turn and look. A wealthy looking older woman sniffs at us, and then turns back to her husband. Seifers chuckles die off, and he shakes his head. Still smiling, he starts cutting up weird looking breaded things on his plate. I wrinkle my nose. He looks up, catching my expression, and then looks back at his plate.

"Oh," he says, "it's calamari."

"Calamari?" Isn't that a wine?"

He shakes his head. "It's a fancy term for Squid."

Squid? I look closer at his plate and then am slightly queasy at the sight of the little teeny things. Seifer holds one up and stretches out the tentacle, it looks and acts like rubber. . . .gross.

Suddenly I'm not very hungry, but I eat anyways so that Seifer isn't wasting his money on me. Thankfully my chicken is just chicken, with no weird suckers or tentacles to be seen. I make it a point not to look at his plate, or to take notice when Seifer purposefully tries to make me look.

The dinner goes fairly quick after that, but not quick enough. I really want to get back to the dorm to look at those books. I mentally urge Seifer on as he pays for the food, and then ask him to drive fast when we finally get to the car. He smirks, and then jumps slightly at a tap on his window. The Maitre'd is huffing slightly, obviously having run after us. "Monsieur forgot his jacket," he explains.

Seifer thanks him, and I scowl at him. He's wasting my time here. Thankfully though Seifer does what I say and drives home quickly. Too quickly. The ride that took us fifteen minutes initially, takes us about three minutes to get back. I spend most of it with my eyes closed, holding desperately onto the car door. A silent mantra of 'Don't puke' runs through my head the whole time, and I gasp in relief when we stop.

I glare at him as he opens the door for me, but he just laughs again. I have to hold onto him as we're going up the stairs, because if I don't I'm going to fall over. He is never going to drive me again, not if my life depended on it. He opens the door for me, and I thank him. Suddenly the dinner rolls in my stomach and I'm forced to run to the bathroom to pray to the porcelain deity.

Less than ten seconds later I'm looking at the processed remains of a forty dollar meal. The acrid taste of puke fills my mouth, and I wince. Seifer appears from nowhere and hands me a rag.

"Hey, you okay?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

I wipe off my mouth and then stand shakily. I turn and glare at him before going to the kitchen. I swish water around in my mouth and then spit in into the sink. God, I hate puking.

"Hey, um, do you just want to lie down for a while?" Seifer hovers behind me. I hope to all things holy he feels some kind of blame for this, but his suggestion really is a blessing in disguise.

"Yes, actually," I say while walking towards my rooms. I close the door a tad bit too rough, and then sigh, pulling a face at the horrible taste in my mouth and burning sensation in my throat. It's worth it, at least, if I can get a little bit of time to myself.

I walk past the couch, patting Seifer absentmindedly on the head. He pants, but doesn't get up. Lazy mutt.

The bed is soft as I sit on it, and holding the books again makes me feel complete in someway. I set them to the side and then shift so that I'm lying on my stomach. When I'm comfortable I spread them in front of me and look at them, debating which one to open first. Unfortunately my morals decide they still need to have their say, and so I decide to look at the sketch book. It seems less incriminating to look at his views than to read about them. I love my logic.

I set the other two neatly on my desk and then concentrate on the sketchbook, the thick black cover scratching my skin. I trace a finger down the spine, where S. Almasy is spelled out in golden lettering, smooth against the rest of the rough cover. After a brief moment of hesitation, I open it to the first page.

It's blank.

I blink at it. Well, that's just messed up. After all this there should at least be something. I scowl at it, and flip to the next page. And gape. The poster on the wall looks like a mere sketch next to this. It's a picture of a small child, at some beach. As is typical of small children, it has no clothes on. It's sitting, bawling it's eyes out, it's little hands flailing in the air. Its gender is non-specific, it could easily be a boy or a girl. It's a pencil drawing, but the shading makes it come to life on the page. A date and the typical S. Almasy are very tiny in the right hand corner.

I examine it for a while longer, surprised at not being able to find any mistakes. I flip through the other pages, skipping some, stopping to marvel over others. They're mostly of people, and they're all at the same beach. I can tell because of some of the background landmarks. Woman, men, children, skinny people, fat people, even some animals are scattered through the pages. I reach the last page, a picture of a man and a woman sitting on the sand and staring at the moon, and then something occurs to me.

I frown and flip to the beginning and start over, paying more attention to the backgrounds and the dates. There's a drawing for every single day, and all but every seventh one is at night. Also the every seventh one is in full color, and there is more detail overall. I close the book after marking the dates and flip though the calendar that I keep on my desk. . . .every date of the color pictures lands on a Sunday. Well I guess that makes sense, seeing as to people usually have Sundays off. But why would he go to the same beach every single day? It must have been hard with him being in law school.

I can feel my brows crease in thought, and then force myself to put the book aside. I can't help the fact that my roommate has freakish habits, and thinking about them won't help. With a shake of the head I pick up the larger of the two journals. The first page is blank, again. I turn to the second, and frown at the neat lettering. I've seen Seifer's writing, and this definitely isn't it. This is more precise and too the point, whereas Seifer's is big and scrawled out. I read over the first few paragraphs, and then frown. This reads like a story. I doubt Seifer would be writing a story, especially not one that sounds like it was written for grown ups. I sigh, not really wanting to further my crime by reading some unknown persons tale. I start to shut the book, and a loose sheet of paper falls out, with words written in the same precise handwriting. What the hell, might as well read a bit. '_Two things in life can set you free, Love and hurt now intertwined, Both feelings kept within the soul, but torn apart within the mind. If you love the man you'll let him go, irreparable hurt will cause the same, you'll die inside to watch him leave, but to let him stay is only pain._'

. . .Poetry? It's not the best thing I've read, but it's not the worst. I hum thoughtfully, and then slide the book under my mattress to read later. Little bit of late night reading, as it were. Couldn't hurt anything.

And finally, the last book. I view the green cover with a bit of hesitation, and then shrug. I'm already this far into the crime, might as well.

The first page has the words 'Seifer Almasy' printed across the middle in Seifer's typical block writing. A border surrounds it, drawings of thick vines that twist and weave among each other. I turn to the next page, and am met by a pair of eyes. They are centered on the left hand page, and the writing wraps around them. I have to turn the journal in circles to read the spiraling print.

'_April 17th _

_Dear Whoever the Hell is Reading this that has Absolutely no Business Here:_

_It's been a year today. One fucking year. Selphie keep's telling me to give it up, and I'm almost ready to. Every day I go to the damned beach and think 'one more day. I'll give it one more day and I'll quit.' But I'm such a fucking romantic, because every day I go back. Irvine at least thinks I'm doing the right thing. I must be out of my mind, to trust Irvine's opinion. But even the opinion of a lunatic sounds great when he's agreeing with you, right? Maybe he'll never show up, and someday someone will come and find my blackened bloated corpse and think 'that poor soul, died of a broken heart.' _

_At least it's not a complete waste, because I get more time to work on my drawings. I still think it's stupid, but at least I'm not to bad at it. If I wasn't going to law school I would probably be an artist full time. . . .That sounds incredibly boring. Fuck, I'm getting weaker every day. Soon I'll be wearing am apron and hosting cocktail parties in my black high heels. As puberty boy would say, 'whatever'._

I open my eyes slightly. Puberty Boy. . .that sounds really familiar. I don't think I've heard it from Seifer, though I can't imagine anyone else having the balls to say something so ridiculous. I shrug, and keep reading.

_All right, I suppose if I'm going to keep a proper journal diary thing, I'll have to put in a little bit about my day. Alright: I woke up, I went to school, I came home, discovered I forgot my keys, broke into the house, and was attacked by Selphie, who thought I was a burglar. She's still mad at me, even though she was the one who didn't answer the door._ _She's strong enough, too. I have a bruise on my jaw where she hit me. Hn, the great Seifer Almasy being defeated by a munchkin. Pathetic, really. Oh, yeah. I went to the beach also, but that's no surprise. I'm sure I'll be there tomorrow and the next day, and probably the day after that. Who knows, I'll probably be there when I'm in my eighties. If I live that long. _

_God! His eyes have been stuck in my head all day, I can't shake the freaking image. I tried drawing them here, but instead of the aroused eyes in my head, he just looks pissed off. Christ, I need another boyfriend. . ._

I blink. . . .A boyfriend? . . .as in a male companion? . . .Seifer is. . .gay? What? I read over the entry again, and blink a couple more times. Well. . .damn. I thought he had been talking about a friend or a dog or something. But that can't be right. . . I picture Seifer in my head, the cocky bastard showing up clearly in my mind. No lisp, no pink clothing, he doesn't _act_ gay. . . maybe this is a different Seifer Almasy? . . .not likely. I breath out heavily. Well this could be a problem. Especially if Caraway finds out. He hates gay people. Loathes them. He fires them. I should probably tell him about the policy before he hits on somebody. Crap. How do I bring this up without admitting I've read his journal?

I shut the book with a sigh, and slip in under the mattress next to the story book. I'll have to figure it out later. . . .Hn, no wonder he doesn't like Rinoa.


	7. News

Disclaimer: FF8 and whatnot belongs to Square Enix (Are they still Square Enix?). Eh, anyways.

Warnings: Language, general confusion.

I would like to thank Redrum (you all know her) for reading over this chapter and making corrections, giving advice, etc. Basically making my life a tiny bit easier. Thanks much! Appreciate it.

Sorry for the wait. I spent quite a lot of time writing a segment involving Caraway, which I eventually decided to remove because it just didn't fit. Also, Zell was being mean to me, so his segment was shortened as well. Sorry bout all that.

Also, if the formatting is screwed up, blame quickedit. I'll try to fix it.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Seifer

I am so pissed right now. Nothing is going right for me, nothing at all. The orientation was a joke, it was more like a question and answer session on my entire life. Honestly, Caraway asked everything possible aside from my bowel movements; maybe he would have asked that, if he had thought of it.

I thought it was going to be a simple routine of him telling me what to do, but of course it wasn't. Why should anything be easy for me? And to make matters worse, I get yet another 'buddy'. Someone named Zell, or something. He's supposed to be 'fun' and 'energetic'. According to Squall, "He's just loud."

Squall has been avoiding me ever since I told him about Zell, and it's seriously ticking me off. Right now he's holed up in his room, talking to his precious Rinoa. Probably more wedding plans, or phone sex, or whatever the fuck it is that happily engaged people talk about.

I point the remote control at the TV and press the button harder than needed, scowling at the screen. Six hundred channels and there's nothing on. It really defeats the purpose of cable TV. I click it off and toss the remote on the coffee table, leaning my head back on the couch.

I frown at the ceiling, trying to think of something to do that will get my mind off things for a while. If it had been three years ago, I would go to Squall, grab the phone from him, toss it in the corner and have wild sex. Unfortunately, that would cause problems now, so basically I'm screwed. Or

not, I guess.

Just as I'm considering throwing myself off the balcony, Squall's door opens and the dog runs out. I push him off me as he tries to jam his wet and cold nose in my face and hold him at arms length. Stupid dog is grinning at me. Drooling and everything. Ugh.

Squall goes to hang up the phone and then walks into the living room, curling himself up on the armchair. He stares off into space, his eyes slightly unfocused, and even I can't figure out what he's thinking. Finally he speaks.

"Where am I supposed to get one?"

Ah, the joys of talking to a man lost in his head and thinking he's having a

conversation with me when he's not speaking a damn thing. "Come again?"

"That wouldn't work. . ."

Great. Sometimes it's fun to mess with him, but right now I don't feel like it.

"Yo. Squall."

"He won't work. . ."

"Who, Laguna?"

"God, no." Squall's face scrunches up slightly.

I shake my head and stand up, figuring I'd get a drink. I smack him lightly in the head as I walk past him, sniggering as he comes back to reality with a start.

"So, Squall," I start, popping open a can of soda. "What are you trying to get?"

He blinks, confused, and then it clicks. ". . .A best man."

My neck spasms, causing my head to jerk towards my shoulder - an involuntary action. "A best man? Like, for a wedding?"

He nods absentmindedly. "Rinoa scheduled the hall for next week."

Next week?! I feel like I should have one of those sweat drop things that Selphie's anime characters are prone to. "A week? Isn't that kinda soon?"

Squall shrugs, settling back into the chair. "She wanted to do it before she

started to show."

". . .Show what?"

He says, quite matter-of-factly, "The baby. Rinoa is pregnant."

The soda can explodes as my fist clenches around it.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Seifer-few hours later

"Yo man, s'up?"

These are the first words I hear from the man. Actually, he looks more like a boy. A man-boy. Some weird hybrid of human extract. And what's with his tattoo? I look at the sprawling blue mark, blinking in disbelief. And the spiky blonde hair? Huh. Human chicken freak what the fuck? I sneer at him, and he gazes back at me, obliviously unaffected.

"The fucking ceiling. Who the hell are you?"

He takes a step back, pauses, and starts punching the air for some reason. "Zell, man. Just Zell. You're Seifer, huh? You from Trabia or something?"

. . .The hell? This is my new 'buddy'? . . .I get a chicken? I wonder what the hell I did to piss off Caraway so much. Crap, he wants an answer. "No, actually. You from Uranus?"

He stops punching, but still bounces up and down. It looks kind of amusing in his black slacks and white business shirt. I also keep wanting to reach out and rip off his flapping red tie. It's nothing if not annoying. "No, actually," he mimics. "I'm from Balamb. Born and raised," he says with a touch of pride.

". . .Right." Is this guy for real? Well, son of a bitch. "Come in, I guess." He smiles, his teeth oddly resembling fangs, and walks in. Or starts to. More like, he takes a step, then stops in the door way, reeling back dramatically. "Whoa! Holy shit! You people live here? This is huge!"

Then he walks in, gaping at everything. I roll my eyes and follow him, shutting the door behind me. He takes in our living room, notes the balcony, gawks at the bathroom ("Damn, you guys have a shower?"), and marvels over the coffeepot. Yes, the coffeepot.

Finally, after he steps outside and comments on Seifer's (God, it feels so weird to refer to the mutt with my name) litter box, I get him settled at the table. I can only thank the Powers that Be that Squall has Seifer out somewhere, or I'd never get Zell to shut up. On second thought, if Seifer ate Zell, that would be problem solved. Fricassee of Zell, followed by a nice big Rinoa pie.

I narrow my eyes at the thought of Rinoa. Stupid fucking bitch. She's not right for Squall. I can't believe how incredibly stupid he is not to see it. And getting pregnant? Shouldn't she use birth control or something? I mean, what's wrong with a condom for fuck's sake? Honestly. . .

"Yo, dude. Penny for your thoughts."

I snap my head up, focusing my glare on the hybrid. "Rinoa. Gimme the penny."

The idiot actually fishes around in his pocket and tosses me the coin. "Rinoa? What about her? Man, she is sooo hot. S'too bad Squall got to her first, for sure. I'd give anything to be with a girl like her." He stares dreamily off into space, eyes half closed and a small smile, sans fangs, blooms.

I roll my eyes, wanting desperately to go grab my gunblade and shove it up his

nasty ass. However, I hear the repercussions for that kind of thing are moderate to severe, so lucky little chicken hybrid gets to live.

Instead, I use my words. My ex-anger management leader would be so thrilled. "Rinoa's nothing but a sheltered slut who needs to have a nice little taste of the real world. Squall is in no way lucky to have her. He's too good for her fucking ass. Best thing for her would to be to drop her off a fucking cliff, to be honest with you. Though I'd feel sorry for the poor seagulls who'd be snacking on her."

Zell stared, wide eyed. "Uh huh. . ." He states brilliantly. And then, "You don't like Rinoa? What are you, a fag or something?"

I detect of whiff of homophobia. Maybe this will get him out of my kitchen, and back to whatever dumpster he crawled from. "Actually, Zell," I say, heavily accentuating his name, "I am."

His mouth pops open, and then he stares at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "You? No fuckin' way, man. Seriously. You ain't no fudge packer."

Oh, like I've never heard that before. Just because I have no lisp and because pink is at the bottom of my color choices, I'm a big tough 'manly man'. I roll my eyes at him. "Fudge packer, faggot, queer, homosexual, homo, freak of nature, ass whammer, shirt lifter. . .take a pick, I've got more."

He giggles, slightly unsure of himself. "Yeah, but you. . .you're not. . ."

"Straight? No. Problem with that?"

"Eh. . ." I can almost see the wheels in his head turn. On the one hand, if he says yes, I can pound him into the ground. On the other, he can say no, and have to hang out with a 'fag'. Ooh, choices, choices. He grins sheepishly. "No. None whatsoever. Er, does Squall know?"

I start to speak, sounding a lot like Zell did, before leaning against the back of my chair. Does he know that I'm gay? I've always assumed so, but now that I think about it, if he has no memory of me, obviously he wouldn't know my sexual preferences, right? Well I'll be damned, the hybrid makes an intelligent point.

"Why the fuck do you want to know? Now come on, we need to study this crap."

And with that, I open my book. However, my mind is only half on my task at hand. The hybrid has made a very good point. . .

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Laguna

The entrance door opens for me as I arrive, and I'm once again impressed at the efficiency of my staff. I smile broadly at the young brunette man that waves me inside and pause to give him twenty gil. He thanks me politely, and slides the money into his pocket. Such polite people around here. I can't help but smile to myself as I walk into my office.

The interior is dark, my possessions only vague shadows in the dark. I sigh, regretting the loss of youthful vision. I walk across the room, following my memory to lead me to the light switch. I grimace as my leg smacks into the scooter that some kid gave me last year and rub the aching flesh.

Something clinks on the other side of the room and I freeze, allowing my eyes to futilely rove the blackened room . After a moment of nothing happening I shrug and continue back to the light switch.

I flip it upwards, and brightness immediately fills the room. "Gah!" I shout as I throw my arm over my eyes, the light having burned them. I lower it slowly, my eyes still shut tight, and then slowly open my eyes.

And find myself staring down the barrel of a gun. Adrenaline immediately fills me, along with a strong urge to flee. But I'm pressed against the wall with nowhere to go.

The person, who is wearing a mask, breaths in heavily. "Goodbye, Mr. Mayor."

The blast is loud, louder than I ever imagined, but also bigger and heavier and less painful than I imagined. I frown. Then blink. And then I realize that I'm not dead and the person with the gun is lying on top of me. My body spasms and I push him off, jumping slightly as somebody grabs my hand and pulls me up.

It's the door opener. He frowns at the man on the ground, and toes him with a steel tipped boot. The fallen man groans.

The brunette nods and places a gun in his belt under his official jacket. Then he gives me the once over and holds out his hand. "Nida Hanson, Mr. Mayor. Balamb Police Department, Special Services. Sorry for the inconvenience."

I reach out and shake his hand slowly, aware of weird palpitations in my chest. "Er, is he dead?"

Nida frowns and shows me the gun, which is full of tranquilizer darts. "Nope, just knocked out. We wanted him alive so we could interrogate him. He isn't the first person we've caught trying to kill you, but he is the first that's gotten this far. So sorry."

"Ah. . .and there are many of you?" I squint my eyes to focus on his blurring

image.

He brightens, placing the gun away. "Oh yeah! You're totally secure. Most of

your employees are actually working for the police, it's nice to have a double

job, you know? Um. . .Sir? Mr. Mayor? Do you feel alright?"

I smile weakly at him, the pain in my chest getting worse. He seems to be

moving, or maybe it's me. Pain shoots down my left arm, and my head swims. I'm

vaguely aware of Nida's shocked face as I fall backwards, and then everything

fades to black.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

BS: yeah, I know. Short, but at least I advanced the plot. Now I can start getting to the point. Hopefully. Anyways, No idea about the next update. Right now I'm supposed to be writing a thirty page story for school, so that sort of has to take priority, due to the whole 'I want to pass High School' factor.


	8. Two Types of Prison

Disclaimer: Characters and places belong to Square Enix. I'm just borrowing them for the fun of it, and I'm making no money off of it (though I wish I were).

Warnings: Mainly language in this chapter. My characters were frustrated. They enjoyed flipping the bird in the censor's direction :P

Also, I was writing this as a birthday present, way back when. I'm a shameful slacker, and figured that two years was simply too long. So, I'm back to finish the job, and then I can just pretend that writing big complicated fanfics applies only to other people, for my eternal enjoyment :P

ooooooooooooooo

(Squall-later the same evening)

Ah, it feels good just to sit down relax after a long, boring day of doing absolutely nothing. I took the dog for a car ride, went to Rinoa's place (she was gone), then stopped by Caraway's office to get some more paperwork. Caraway expressed his happiness concerning our engagement quite sincerely, heartily welcoming me into his family with several borderline annoying pats on the back. But something was off about him, something I can't quite figure out. He seemed like his mind was on other things. Whatever. I figured out from him that Rinoa and Quistis were out buying more clothes. Honestly, a person only needs so many clothes. The clothing that Rinoa owns already fills five closets, and that doesn't count the accessories. I see no point in it, but I guess it's nice that she has a hobby.

Zell was here when I got back, and was unnaturally quiet. He only said 'hi' as I passed, not even punching the air. Wonder if Seifer has anything to do with it? It doesn't matter really; I'm just slightly surprised that someone could tame theenergetic blonde. At least they were doing the work they were supposed to be doing. I read Seifer's transcripts from his law school, and was quite surprised. He was second in his class, only being surpassed by someone named 'Xu'. His schoolwork was excellent; he scored remarkably high in every endeavor. The only black mark was his attitude. Apparently he would get fed up with teachers and walk out of classes, attributing it to the fact that the teachers were 'fucking idiots'. Sad thing was, he was usually right when the teachers were wrong. It seems that Seifer does what he thinks is right, and damn the rest. It also says that he participated in an anger management class, though it doesn't state the need for it, only a certificate of completion. From the little time I've spent with Seifer, however, I can sort of guess at the reasons.

His journal flashes back into my mind, mixed with a slight stab of guilt in my stomach. Against my better judgment, curiosity overrules my guilty conscience. Maybe I'll read some of it later, after he's gone to bed. I can swear that I know him from somewhere. It's just in the way he looks at me sometimes, the way he says my name, among other things. It's almost becoming an obsession to find out the truth. I could just ask him, but that would be too easy, and possibly awkward. I don't know how he would react; I don't know for sure that he even knew me. I lean back into the couch and sigh. I don't know anything.

After a moment of silent contemplation, my peace is ruined by the phone. It rings, loud and obnoxious. I scowl at the ceiling, willing it to shut up.

Finally, after the third ring, Seifer shouts, "I got it," and the ringing stops. I listen to the hum of his voice, barely audible through his open door, and lean farther into the couch. Obviously it's not Rinoa, as I doubt Seifer would chat with her this long.

Rinoa. God, I have so much to do. I don't know how she expects me to find everything I need in only a week. I have to get her ring, my tux, a best man, pay for the cake, help pick out a wedding invitation design, and a thousand and one other things. And then with the baby, I'll need to find a proper house to support her and the child, probably get some kind of SUV, plus all that extra crap babies need that I know nothing about. I'm sure Caraway will help us out initially, but I don't want him doing too much. I need to start getting my own life together. I guess that's why I'm marrying her; I need some kind of stability in my life. But then Laguna showed up. Christ, I know he said he was my father, but I just can't picture it. What a fine mess this is turning out to be.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts as Seifer so graciously whacks me on the head. I scowl at him for daring to touch me, but he's too busy pulling on his long trench coat to notice.

"Look, Squall, something's come up. I'm going to the police station, but I should be back in about an hour."

What the hell? I frown at him, at how troubled he looks. "What's wrong?"

"The old man, ah, shit, Laguna had an accident. Heart attack or something. He's in the hospital now."

I stand quickly, not really believing this. He was just fine when I saw him. "A heart attack? How . . .?" Christ, I don't have time for this. "Take me with you. I'll walk to the hospital from the police station."

He stares at me for a few long seconds, green-blue eyes tumultuous. The image brings back a memory, which stirs in the very back of my head, but is shoved out of sight as he speaks. "Fine, but let's go. I'll tell you about it in the car."

I decide quickly that my white T-shirt will do fine for now, but almost regret the decision as soon as I step outside. The look on Seifer's face, however, states that if I want to go, he's leaving now. I follow him to his car and slide quickly into the passenger seat, small puffs of steam floating into the air with every breath, soaked to the skin from the pouring rain.

He starts the car and flips the heater on, probable more for my benefit than his. Almost surprisingly, his driving is perfectly steady. He never once goes above the speed limit as we back out and exit the dorm parking lot. I guess I was expecting him to break the sound barrier or something, with how upset he looks.

He taps his long fingers against the steering wheel, then sighs. "Someone snuck into Laguna's house and tried to kill him last night. Fortunately, one of the undercover guards Ward hired saved his ass, but Laguna had some kind of heart attack from the fright, or something. The perp is at the station right now, but refuses to talk. They've tried everything, but it ain't working. I figured I would give it a try, see if it does anything."

. . . a law student expects to crack a man experienced police officers can't? Something about that seems off to me, but I don't say anything to him, not that it seems to matter. He keeps his eyes focused on the road as if his life depends upon it. I don't know how to feel about it all, really. I don't feel much of anything, no matter how bad it sounds. Laguna says he's my father, but I don't know that for sure. I only met him once, and only for an hour. I feel bad that he's in the hospital, and I'd love to get a chance alone with the would be assassin, but I'm not completely broken up over it. I stare out the window, watching the rain fall and bounce off of the pavement.

We pass the hospital, and I'm relieved when he doesn't offer to drop me off. I'm going to need the two block walk from the police station, if only to figure out what to say to Laguna.

Seifer parallel parks perfectly in front of the police station, then waits for me to get out of the car before locking it. We both hurry for the entrance, closing the door quickly behind us. I shiver, the warmth of the room not doing much to help my temperature.

Immediately a huge man appears, seemingly from nowhere, followed by a much smaller man. The huge man, who looks to be almost a foot taller than even Seifer, walks over and claps Seifer's shoulder.

" . . ." he says, a sharp glint in his eyes. His scarred face seems to be set in a permanent frown.

Seifer nods. "I'll see what I can do. Oh, Squall, this is Ward. Ward, Laguna's son, Squall." He looks at me. "Ward is one of Laguna's trusted advisors."

I hold out my hand to the man, who takes it after a short moments hesitation. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He nods at me, the unspoken words clear. I wonder for a moment why he doesn't talk, when Seifer says, "I'll tell you later." I look at him, not quite sure which one of us he's talking to. I don't bother to ask, either.

He takes off his heavy coat and hands it to me. "Here," he mutters, his mind elsewhere. "It might keep you dry."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll pick you up in about an hour or so. I'll call if I'm gonna be late." Then, with no further remarks, he strides off down the main hallway and takes a right at the first door.

The smaller man mutters something, which sounds like "damn him anyway", before running to catch up with Seifer.

Ward looks at me again, then smiles, as if something amuses him. I frown at him, and he holds up a finger, as if indicating me to wait. I nod, sort of impatient, as he fishes around in his pocket. Finally he pulls out a pad of paper and a pencil, and quickly scribbles something down.

I take it, curious. It reads, "It's a good thing you look like your mother."

I look up at him, uncomfortably aware of the crick in my neck. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiles again, shrugs, and then turns around and walks away, going the direction Seifer has taken.

I watch him go, then shake my head and stuff the paper in my pocket. I should probably get going.

I pull Seifer's jacket on, and sigh in relief at how warm it is. It smells familiar too, a warm, comforting sort of smell. I just can't remember where I may have come across it before. I look outside, almost reluctant to leave, then let my face fall back into a neutral mask. After one last look down the hallway, I leave.

ooooooooooooooo

(Seifer)

I stare at the man through thetwo way mirror, arms crossed across my chest. Ward is on my right, Lieutenant Wedge on my left. Ward hasn't done much but look pensively at the man, whereas Wedge just wants a confession so he can go home.

I cock my head to one side. I know almost everyone in Balamb, but I've never seen this guy. I figure he's from nearby, maybe Dollet or Deling City. I doubt he would be from any great distance - there would be less chance of a motive that way.

"What do we know about him?"

Wedge shrugs and sighs. "Not a lot. He had no identification, and hasn't said a word to anyone. We have no motive, no name, nothing. The fingerprints cleared." He shakes his head. "Man, if I screw this one up, there goes this month's paycheck for sure."

I snort. Everything is always about the paycheck with him. "Damn. Look, give me some time with him."

Wedge looks at me. "You got a plan?"

I shrug. "None whatsoever. I'll improvise. Ten minutes and I'm out."

Wedge bites his lip. "I dunno, Almasy. I could get fired if you screw up."

"That's why I'm not gonna screw up. Trust me here, Wedge. I got this one."

He looks about to protest, but Ward clasps his shoulder. Wedge looks at his impassive face, then sighs. "Fine, Almasy, ten minutes."

"Thanks." I clasp him on his free shoulder as I walk past, smirking a little. Almost have to feel sorry for him, really.

I push the door open and enter the room with the detainee, who doesn't even acknowledge my presence. He sits in a chair on one side of the table, head in his hands. He definitely does not look like a happy camper.

I sit across from him, and size him up. He's taller than Wedge, but shorter than I am. His hair is brown, and his features are very soft. He's one of those classic pretty boys. If I wasn't sitting across from him, knowing why he was here, I would never think him capable of something like this.

I sit back in the chair, and wait. After about a minute, a shuffling sounds reaches my ears. Ismirk. He's started bouncing his leg. It's always the first step people like him take. First with the leg, then the real nervousness, then the doubt. I lean forwards, resting my arms on the table, and look at him, still not saying a word. The tapping gets faster and faster, and his mouth quirks ever so slightly. Finally, he raises his head and looks at me, blue eyes questioning me silently.

I smirk at him. "Bout time I was noticed. Care to tell me your name?"

". . ." He stares at me levelly.

I have to chuckle a bit. If he's trying to wait me out, or whatever, it's not gonna work. I got too used to it with Squall.

"Okay, I'll start. I'm Seifer." I hold out my hand for him to shake. He just looks at it like it's diseased. I jab it at his sullen face. "Yeah, hi. It's called manners. Didn't your mother ever teach them to you?"

His eyes widen, then narrow. Tentatively, he reaches out and shakes my hand. "Jonathan."

I smirk. "Jonathan? Alright then, Johnny-boy, we need to talk."

He glares at me.

I smirk back at him. "Don't like that, do ya? Well let me tell you something. If you don't cooperate with me within the next five minutes, I can think of a whole shit load of things you won't be liking. Prison, for starters." His glare dies back to the sullen look. I lean back into the chair with a small sigh. "That's better. Now tell me, why'd ya do it?"

We engage in a battle of the stare for the better part of twenty seconds, and then he sighs and looks back at the table. "My dad's in the hospital, and mum is out of money to pay for his bills and herself."

Everything kinda clicks into place all at once. "Ah, so you're doing this for money?"

He nods the affirmative. "Fifty thousand. That would pay off the hospital, and rent for a few months."

Fifty Thousand? Shit, maybe this goes deeper than I thought. It's a lot of money to pay for a hit, even for a man of Laguna's status. I bite the inside of my cheek, debating with myself. Finally, I win. Leaning towards him, I make my offer. "Look, Johnny-boy. Tell you what. You tell us who sent you, and we'll let you off free. You tell us everything you know, and if it'sgood,we'll give you fifty-thousand. What d'ya say?" Well, there goes Wedge's paycheck.

His eyes narrow. "Fucking yeah right, man."

I shrug. "Fine. Go to prison. You're cute enough, I'm sure you'll find someone to love ya. Plus your mother will get to pay those handsome prison fees. Wouldn't that be fun? "

His glare intensifies, then he lowers his eyes and sighs. "Fine. Caraway."

I raise an eyebrow. "Caraway? You want a lawyer?"

He snaps his head up and scowls again, eyes on fire. "No, you moron. James Caraway hired me. He wants Loire dead."

I cross my arm over my chest. "Woah, Johnny. That's going a bit far. You know the kinda trouble you can get in for saying that crap?"

"But I'm telling the truth!" He shouts at me, desperation in his voice. "I met one of his men in a bar, and he called me two days ago, asked if I would do it for fifty thousand. Man, I ain't no murderer, okay? But we need the money, bad! What would you do? I don't know why he wants Loire dead; I didn't ask. I don't care, man. I needed this job!"

Something in his eyes, the way his body is positioned, tells me he's telling the truth. Jesus H. Christ. This is way over my head.

I stand up, and shake his hand. "Well, thank you very much, Jonathan. They'll have you sign a statement. Also, have them send me the address where you want the money sent, alright? But you'll only get it if this clears. Personally, I believe you. However, Caraway is big in these parts, so there will be an investigation. I wouldn't worry about it though, Laguna will probably thank you for doing this to him. He'll be glad to pay up." I almost feel bad about forcing the old man to cough up the dough, but not really. He has way too much as it is; even he says so.

I exit the room the same way I came, only to be met by a purple faced Wedge.

"ALMASY! You bloody MORON! How could you do this! Who the hell has fifty thousand dollars! Why did I let you go in there! Oh, man, this month's paycheck is soooo dead. . ."

Ward pushes him aside, and nods at me. He rubs his fingers together, indicating money, then points at himself. Yeah, the money's good.

"Thanks Ward. Hey, is Kiros at the hospital?"

He nods profusely, then makes a series of complicated hand movements, which I take to mean something like, 'he's with Laguna, and he's been there all day'.

I nod at him. "Great. I'm gonna stop by the store, then I'm gonna head up to the hospital. Do you know how he's doing?"

Ward shakes his head and shrugs.

"Alright. I'll see you later then."

He nods, and turns back to Wedge, whose face is a horrid shade of purple. Whatever. I'm sure he'll live. Hell, if this Caraway thing pans out, maybe he'll get a raise.

Too tired to even smirk in his general direction, I leave.

ooooooooooooooo

(Squall)

Some people hate hospitals. I don't, not really. Actually, considering the time I spent here, I rather enjoy it. Sometimes fate just has a cruel sense of humor. Putting Laguna in my old room, for instance. Not that it's a bad room. To be honest, it's nicer now that I'm not the one in the bed. I always found the absolute pristine whiteness of it amazingly annoying. Everything is white: the sheets, the bed, the equipment, the walls, the 638 ceiling tiles, even the doorknob. It's no wonder people die here - anything to get away from the blinding white.

Of course, Laguna wouldn't be one to have to deal with that problem. Flowers cover every available space, and then some. The floor along the walls is covered with plants of every shape, size, and color. A fewstuffed animalshave been shoved in wherever they would fit, and the 'get well' cards were graciously thrown into a corner. I don't see why someone couldn't just toss at least ninety per cent of this crap away. Looking at the man, however, I highly doubt he can find it within him to part with anything.

The man is sitting in the chair next to his bed, asleep, some book open on his chest. Must have been boring. I lean against the doorway, and simply stare at him. He looks well, for just having had heart surgery, but his face is more pale than the last time I saw him.

Sighing, I enter the room and sit on the bed. Immediately a loud humming fills the air as the mattress inflates to support my weight. ...shit. I forgot it did that.

Laguna's head snaps up, eyes surprisingly clear as he frowns at me. After a moment he groans and covers his eyes. "Sorry, but have you seen my glasses?"

Sadly, the first place I look is the top of his head, and am somewhat surprised that they aren't there. Instead, they're neatly folded and placed on the small, white nightstand, next to an exceptionally large floral bouquet. I hand the glasses to him, noting the clear frames and light weight. Heh. Someone has good taste in their vision care.

He thanks me and puts them on, blinking rapidly to clear his sight. Then, he looks at me. His wide eyed stare and gaping mouth should have been amusing, but right now it's hard to find anything truly funny. "Um," he states brilliantly. "Squall? Didn't expect to see you here." He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "This is kind of embarrassing. I don't usually wear glasses."

". . . . whatever." Like I care.

He closes his eyes and snorts in amusement. "Yeah, some things never change. So!" He tosses the book on the floor, sits up, folds his hands in his lap, and grins brightly. "What's up?"

I blink at him. "You . . . had a heart attack."

He waves at me with a slight grimace. "Yeah, but that's old news. How are you?"

"I . . . ." Is this guy for real? "I'm fine."

"Ah ah, Squall. Details! Tell me what you've been up to!"

Lord, does he have to sound so excited? "Not much. I won the Larnman case, but that was a given." The DA was pissed, but what else is new? "I had Seifer's hips checked, and the doctor said he's fine, no hip dysplasia at all." He raises an eyebrow, and I shake my head. "I have a dog. His name is Seifer."

"Really? Interesting." He narrows his eyes at me, like he's trying to see past my skin. To be honest, it's creepy.

"What?"

His head snaps up, doll like smile plastered on his face. "Nothing. What else?"

Um. "Rinoa wants to get married next week, so I guess we're doing that."

It surprises me when he doesn't do anything. I've known the man for a few short hours, and for God's sake, a _scooter_ excited him. Yet, I mention my wedding, and he just stares at me? . . . whatever.

"You know . . . ." He sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Do you love her?"

"Of course." It doesn't offend me that he asks, but it does confuse me.

He shakes his head. "Squall, look. I know that you have amnesia, and that since meeting me again you've only been around me for a few hours. I guess you know that I like to talk, and I'll be honest, it's usually just to listen to the sound of my own voice." I smirk at this, and he returns his own weak smile. "However. There are some things I think you should know. You can do whatever you want with the information - I don't care. Just as long as you know, I'll be happy knowing that you're happy."

Right. And theaward of the year for sentimentalitygoes to Laguna Loire. ". . . ."

"Fair enough. Okay, where to start." He runs his hand through his lengthy hair and nods. "Okay. Look. I've seen you in love, okay? And this, what you have with Rinoa, it's not the same. I don't doubt that you have feelings for her, but think about it. I ask you what's new, and you tell me about your dog before telling me about your engagement? The last person you were with, whenever I asked you how you were doing, you would tell me all about how . . . um, that person was before saying anything about yourself. You had no plans for marriage, but in your eyes what you had was equal to it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

I narrow my eyes at him. Not glaring, but just thoughtfully. "I noticed you're avoiding pronouns."

He grins. "You and your damn attention to detail. It's not important." The grin leaves, to be replaced by a more serious look. "Who I really want to talk about is Caraway."

I don't bother to argue the fact that I think it's important before he's off running his mouth again.

"Caraway and I were in the army together."

I raise my eyebrows. This actually is a surprise. "James was in the military?"

He nods. "Yep. Good old General Caraway." At those words he glares off into space, then focuses the dark look on me. "You know, I doubt you'll want to hear what I'm telling you, and you may hate me, but whatever you do with it, don't dismiss it. Got it?"

God, I wish he would shut the hell up and get to the point already. "Yes."

"Good." He goes back to glaring at the 638 ceiling tiles. "I guess I should start with some back story."

. . . great.

"You see, there was this girl. Her name was Julia.

"Julia Heartilly? Rinoa's mother?"

He nods. "Right on one. God, she was lovely. Even more so than her daughter, if you'll believe it. I met her when I was eighteen years old, you know, trying to figure out what I was doing with my life. She was amazing. Full of life, funny as can be, gorgeous smile, and that voice . . ." He smiles softly. "We were engaged. I asked her to marry me the night before I was called off to serve my time in the military. It was nice, you know, having some one at home waiting for me. Anyway, I met Caraway in the army, and we became good friends. This one time we got a weeks leave, and I brought him home and introduced her. Well, long story short, he fell in love." He shrugs, the glare returning. "You know how Caraway is. He sets his sight on something and goes for it. I guess he tried to make a move on her, but she said she loved me. So, he decided to get rid of me."

"Get rid of you?"

"Yeah. You know, kill me."

" . . . ." It hardly seems believable.

"I know it doesn't sound likely, but hear me out. We were on a mission together. It was night time, and we had been on the go for thirty straight hours. We were tired as Hell, and figured we might as well catch some Z's. So, we set up the tent and got ready for bed. I still remember those stupid mattresses we had to sleep on. Harder than rock. Anyway. Caraway said that he had to 'take a piss'. That should have seemed strange, as we had had next to nothing to drink that day, but I was too tired to care. So, he leaves. I'mlaying there, and I hear this weird noise, right? Like a clicking or something. So, I step out of the tent to investigate. The opening was on the south side, and that was where the noise had come from, so I went in that direction. It was a Goddamned squirrel. Anyways, I was freezing cold and really fricking tired, so I turned back to the tent. On the north side of the tent was Caraway. Only thing was, he was a good distance away. He made some motion, like he was throwing a baseball at the tent or something. Didn't even fucking figure it out."

He shakes his head. "A grenade. Do you believe that? He threw a grenade at me. Demolished the tent. Luckily I was far enough away to survive, but itruined my leg to the point where it had to be amutatedand scarred the hell out of my body." He indicates his left side.

I look down at him. Even though he has a blanket, two feet shaped bumpsare clearly visible. He must have noticed my line of sight, because he laughs breathlessly. "Yeah, I know. Amazing what technology they have these days. You should have seen my firstprosthetic - it was like a metal stick. Here, I'll show you."

I look away, slightly uncomfortable, as he unashamedly hikes up his hospital gown. Eventually he obviously gets the leg off, and whacks me in the knee with it to get my attention. I grab it reflexively. It's peach-white, obviously tailor made to match his skin, and looks exactly like a real leg, down to the slightly imperfectly shaped toenails. Amazing. Morbidly, my eyes are drawn to his leg, or rather, where the leg was supposed to be connected to his body. All that's left is a scarred,discolored stump.

He grins weakly as he readjusts the blanket. "Well, to finish the story, Caraway presumed me dead, left for camp, told the commanding officer I had been attacked and killed by the enemy, and given his good boy status, or really, who knows why, nobody bothered to check the story. At least, not while I was there. I guess some enemy troops were closer than we thought, because when I woke up I was in one of their army hospital tents, bandaged like a freaking mummy, and in a mass of pain. Even though I was obviously the enemy, those guys treated my wounds, healed me up proper, and let me go free when I was all better." He sighs. "As for Caraway, he offered a comforting shoulder to Julia, eventually made her love him, and married her. Rinoa was born a year later; Julia died when she was five. A car accident."

His fist clenches and unclenches rhythmically as he stares off into space. "I never bothered going back to her after that. I left the army, moved to Balamb, and here I am."

He folds his hands together and stares me straight in the eye. "I've spoken with Caraway. Recently. He knew how to contact me, yet never told me about you, when I had rewards set up for information on you. We all thought you were dead. It doesn't matter now; all that matters is that you're alive and well. We all have to make sacrifices, I guess. Squall, I know you have no reason to trust me, and I know that your trust isn't gained easily. You've known Caraway for years, and you're engaged to his daughter. Obviously he has the advantage, not that it matters. But I figured while you're here, I might as well tell you about your parentage."

He once again runs his hand through his hair. Honestly, I want to leave. However, I guess I should hear him out. After this, I have no obligation to see him. His story about Caraway upsets me more than it should have, which is oddly unsettling to me.

"I'll admit it, and I'd rather you hear it from me than from Caraway. Squall, I've lied to you."

I blink at him, actually surprised. I would never have thought this man could form a decent lie.

He laughs shortly. "Well, not a lie, per se, but not the whole truth, either."

"Biologically, I'm not your father."

I stand up quickly and glare down at him. I come to him, looking for answers, and he lied about that? "What? Then why the . . ."

"Wait." He holds up a hand. "I'm only asking you to hear me out, then you can do or say whatever you want."

I fold my arms across my chest, but don't sit.

"Fine, then. Once again, biologically speaking, I'm your uncle. My sister, Raine Leonhart, was your mother. It was a huge scandal. See, we were raised in Winhill, a very small town. So, naturally, news got around. When your mother was a teenager, still in school, she fell in love with a man, and they eventually had sexual intercourse." Seeing the look on my face, he clarifies. "No, this man wasn't your father. They broke up soon after, and we never saw him again. Anyway, by that time, she had been labeled a tramp by the town people because she wasn't married to that boy.

'Shortly before I went into the army, Raine came to me. She was horribly upset. She told me that she was pregnant, and didn't know what to do. The man, your 'real' father, well . . ." he nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Let's just say the sex was not consentual, and after the fact, he was never seen again. However, Raine refused to kill a child. It soon became obvious that she was pregnant, and of course the idiotic, close-minded villagers made up wild gossip about her being promiscuous. There was this particularly nasty rumor in which people theorized she had been paid for the sex."

He shook his head. "A few months went by, and she couldn't handle it there anymore. So, I moved her up to Balamb, where I had been living. My job was low paying, not to mentionmind numbingly dull, so I joined the army to help pay for her and her son - you. She gave birth while I was away, and by the time I came back, you were near a year old." He laughs. "Cuter than anything I'd ever seen, but serious even then. Money wasn't so much of an issue. The army was happy to pay disability, with a bonus to keep me placated.

'After that, she had no use for men, and I never found a lady to replace Julia. So, we sort of fell into a routine. When you were two years old, Raine contracted cancer. Even though she was a strong woman, she wasn't able to beat it. She died when you were three." He sighs again. "At that point, I adopted you, mainly for the school. It made things easier. Raine and I had different fathers; hence the name difference, and I made your last name'Leonhart-Loire', so that you would have a piece of your mother. You dropped the 'Loire' part when you were fifteen.

'We . . . well, we got along to a certain extent, but I think you took my army stories too seriously. You were ready to enlist when you were seven." He laughs at this. "So serious. It was the one thing we never could agree on. You wanting to get into the army and make a name for yourself, and me, so afraid you would get hurt and too unwilling to let yourself go. Anywho, eventually you began to resent me, started referring to me as Laguna, and ran away from home. You joined up in the army as Squall Leonhart. You actually did very well. I was quite proud of you." He shrugs. "Then of course there was your accident, and here we are today."

". . . ." It's too bad my co-workers can't hear this. I'm sure they'd be thrilled to learn I technically am a bastard.

"So, I'm not asking you for much. Just, watch your back around that man."

. . . I'm supposed to watch my back around the man who saved my life? The man who is the father of my fiancée? The man who, to my knowledge, has never done any harm to me whatsoever? How can Laguna expect this of me? If he hasn't told me the 'whole truth' concerning this, what else could he keep from me?

I scowl at him, though he's not the only reason I'm upset right now. I'm so tired of this: tired of not knowing who I am, where I came from, tired of rebuilding my whole life only to have Seifer and Laguna waltz in and turn what I've managed to make so far crumble around me. I'm sick of them making me doubt myself. No, that's not fair. I'm sick of me making myself doubt myself.

Hyne, I just wish I could remember. But then, learning what I have from Laguna, would that really be the best thing for me? I have a life now, a fiancé, a great job, and a child on the way. I'm happy . . . I think I'm happy. Do I want to ruin what I have, and possibly my life in the process?

A quiet hum sounds from the doorway, disturbing my thoughts. Seifer. It's either perfect timing, or he's been here for a while, and I simply haven't noticed him standing there, leaning against the doorway.

"Hey, old man, did you give him a chance to get a word in edgewise?"

Laguna rubs the back of his neck in an oddly embarrassed manner, a small smile on his lips. "If I had, would he have taken it?"

Seifer smirks, straightening. "Touché. How are you?"

Laguna waves airily. "Fine, fine. I'll be out in a couple of days. Don't worry about me. It's late. Go on, get out of here. Get some food or something. Besides, Kiros will be back in about a half hour, and you know that I need my beauty sleep."

Seifer snorts. "As if it works. All right, we'll get out of your hair. If you're nice, I'll bring you ayummy greasy hamburger tomorrow." His eyes are clearly teasing.

Laguna huffs. "Please, I get that here. Though if you wouldn't mind, green olives and chocolate chip cookies sound fantastic."

. . . what the Hell? Is he pregnant?

Pregnant.

Rinoa.

I sigh. I promised I would call, but it's probably too late now. To be honest, I don't feel like speaking to her, something I'm sure she'll enjoy sniping about in the morning.

"Yo. Squall. You ready?"

Seifer stares at me expectantly, but Laguna answers for me. "Phft, of course he's ready. You boys have fun now."

Something passes over Seifer's face, a certain look, but before I can identify it he has that damned smirk back in place. "Alrighty then. Let's go. Later, Laguna."

"Bye now, Seifer. Squall, remember what I said, 'cause I won't mention it again. See you later." He smiles at me.

I wave at him, and then turn and follow Seifer. For some reason, I feel bad simply leaving Laguna there alone. Whatever. I'm sure he'll find abegonia that will listen to him.

It's still raining when we leave the hospital. Little rivers have formed in the streets, something Seifer oddly seems to find amusing. He unlocks the car for me and I slide into the passenger seat, thrilled to find the car still slightly warm from the heater. He must not have been at the hospital for long.

Thankfully, he starts talking without me having to ask him as he pulls away from the curb. "Well, I got the guy to talk. Took some bribing, but we have the statement. Of course there will be an investigation, a lot of political bullcrap, but what else is new. Point is, we got a story, motive, and confession."

I glance at him. "Who was it?"

"Ah, couldn't tell you. Confidentiality. You're a lawyer, you get it." He smirks softly.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he doesn't take his eyes off of the road for a second. Seifer doesn't seem the type to keep things confidential when he knows it will stay confidential with that person. I had also figured that he would tell me, considering the victim in this case was my supposed father.

"Seifer, the papers will have it by tomorrow, so I'll figure it out anyway. Tell me."

"Heh. Pushy." He shakes his head and sighs. "Alright, but you won't be happy. The kid was hired to whack Laguna; he took the job for money."

". . . and?"

He mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch. "Figures. Problem is, he claims that James Caraway hired him."

. . . no way. No fucking way. "Well, he's lying."

Seifer shakes his head. "I'll be honest with you. I read people quite well. I know what people are feeling. This kid isn't lying, I'll tell you that much. Hell, you're the junior D.A. Haven't you checked Caraway's file?"

"James Caraway's file is perfectly legit." I glare at him. I know James Caraway. There's no way he would hire an assassin. Why Laguna? What would be his motive? It's a ridiculous notion.

Seifer scoffs. "Hate to burst your bubble, but he's in charge of the files. He could easily have deleted them and made new ones. However, if you really check the facts, you'll find some pretty substantial holes in his records. People don't say anything because he's huge, but Caraway goes deeper than you think." His eyes suddenly narrow, and he glares at the road. "Of course, being your future daddy-in-law, you've no reason to believe me. Just like it's convenient for you to pass Laguna off as a crack pot, and stick with your fairy tale princess."

"So now you have something against Rinoa?" This man is unbelievable.

"I'm sure she's a good fuck, but come on Squall, she's as dense as a surf board. She went to Irvine's high school. Hate to tell you this, but she was a slut then, and I'm sure she's a slut now. Are you even sure that baby is yours?"

He . . . how dare he think . . . of all the . . . "pull over."

"I'm just saying. . ."

"Pull **over**, Seifer, or I swear to fucking God I will jump out of this car."

Sighing, he complies, and parks as I toy with the idea of breaking his perfect face. "Rinoa is my fiancé," I hiss at him, "and I love her. You either fucking accept that, or you can leave. I don't know what your problem is, and I don't care. Whatever it is, get over it. If I don't get a sincere apology tonight, you can find somewhere else to live, because you will not work in this town again."

Seifer looks at me, a hurt look on his face. "Man, what the Hell happened to you . . ."

I don't bother to hear him out. I jerk open the passenger door, and slide out of the car. "I'm walking home, and you can have your fucking jacket back." I rip off the offending garment and throw it at him before slamming the door shut.

To my surprise, he doesn't try to get me back into the car. Instead, he smoothly pulls away from the curb and speeds off. The left turn at the intersection leads to the dorms, but he goes right. Must be going to talk to his precious Irvine. As luck would have it, I've gotten out right next to a house with a fancy stone fence.

I punch it.

Hard.

Seifer Almasy can go to Hell.

……………………………………………………………..

BS: Whoo, bet you all thought I'd died o.o; No, and I'm back. Obviously. Okay, sorry about shoving everything into a Laguna ramble, but he's just too damn convenient to pass up :D

Also, concerning some things (ie: Seifer knowing about Caraway's 'file', and the fact that Rinoa went to Irvine's High School), I'll just say that Seifer did some research on his own time, but I didn't feel like writing that :P


	9. Yet Another Dinner

Disclaimer: Yeah, ff8 and all the stuff involved don't belong to me. Do I get a cookie for figuring that out?

Warnings: some angst, sap, and a little bit of language (as if I could do a chapter without).

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(Seifer)

The trench coat rests in my lap, leaving only my sleeveless vest to protect me from the chill of the frigid ocean air, though with my current soaked status, I'll no doubt end up with a rare cold despite its effort. The full moon casts a glow to my surroundings, making everything seem surreal. A crab scutters sideways across the saturated sand, dancing in and out of the pulsing ocean waves.

The rain stopped about a half hour after I arrived here, and I wish it hadn't. It had helped my mood, giving me a sort of 'at-least-things-can't-get-worse' type of attitude. Now, however, there's nothing left to distract me from my thoughts.

Maybe I shouldn't have said those things to Squall. After all the time we were together, I know better. I know full well that he protects those he's close to, and he feels a certain bond with Caraway, seeing as to how the man so generously paid for his treatment at the hospital.

It's almost ironic. Squall grew up on Laguna's stories, hating the famous general for what he did to his dad. Now he's probably upset with Laguna for bad mouthing his future father-in-law.

I had done some research on Rinoa, just to figure out what Squall was getting himself into. To my surprise, I found that she had gone to Irvine's high school in Deling City, though Irvine had never heard of her. Not too surprising. He was more active in rodeo and farm clubs, technically a hick, whereas I'm sure her royal highness was ruling the school from her ivory pedestal.

On a few occasions I'd heard Laguna rant about her, though he never called her by her name. It was always, 'Caraway's daughter', the man having an unnatural fixation with the ex-general. I joined Caraway's company simply for the prestige, never figuring on actually meeting the big boss.

Sometimes life just isn't cool. Not cool at all.

I suppose I should apologize to Squall, though I really don't want to. So, he kicks me out, and that's that. I'll never see him again. It hurts, it breaks my heart, but I can't, I won't stay around to watch him be happy when I'm denied the only thing in life that ever made any sense. The love I had for him, that I still have, got me through some dark times. I don't care how selfish it is of me, I won't give that up for him.

Shaking my head, I close my eyes tightly. That's a load of crap, and I know it. I'd do anything for Squall. If being with Rinoa gives his life some meaning, I won't get in his way. I'm not happy about it, nor do I accept it, but I won't ruin his life again.

I hug my knees to my chest and stare out into the ocean. The water goes on forever, making me feel small and insignificant here on the edge of the continent. But I am. Insignificant, that is. My actions only affect one person – me.

If Squall does marry Rinoa, I'll quit my job and forget about law. I only got into it in the first place initially out of boredom, but continued my studies as I realized that a job where I could make good money arguing was the perfect job for me. I did enjoy the military. I'm only twenty-four; I'm sure they'll take me back without question. They even seemed disappointed to see me go, but without Squall, my time there was meaningless.

I finger the trench coat's sleeve. What am I doing here? It doesn't matter, because in the end I know that I'll just wind up apologizing to Squall. He doesn't remember me, he probably doesn't want to, and I can accept that fact. However, I can't stand to be away from him. I love him.

I rise from my seated position, futilely trying to brush thick, wet sand off of my body, and walk back to the car. I toss my coat in the passengers seat after a brief debate on whether or not to sit on it. Ultimately it's easier to clean the car than the jacket.

The ride passes in silence, and I'm at the dorm faster that I had wished. I park in my designated spot and kill the engine. It's tempting just to stay here all night, maybe through tomorrow, and then for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, that isn't a viable option for a number of reasons. Sighing, I open the door and get out of the car.

The dorm is dark and silent, though I know full well that Squall is awake. For some reason I never quite figured out, he prefers darkness. He doesn't turn on a light unless absolutely necessary, something that used to amuse me. I would wait until he was comfortable, and then walk into the room and turn on all available lights. It would annoy him to no end, which was really the only reason I would do it.

Living in constant darkness gave him amazing night vision, which helped in the military during night raids, but I, preferring the light, have amazing trouble finding my way in the dark. I shuffle slowly across the floor, fairly certain nothing is there, but not wanting to trip just the same.

I knock on Squall's door, not the least bit surprised when I don't get an answer. Assuming his old habits die hard, I enter without asking. The moon, filtering through the small window above his bed, illuminates the room softly, though not enough for me to make out his features. It's only when he shifts his body that I can tell he's laying flat on his back on his bed, which isn't good. He only does that when he's doing some heavy-duty thinking.

"Hey Squall," I say softly, my voice still sounding too loud in the quiet room. There's no answer, as per my expectations. I lean against the wall and sigh. "Look. I was an ass. I **am** an ass. I was . . . I just wasn't in the best of moods. This thing with Laguna, this move, a new job, all of this crap keeps piling up, you know?"

I know he knows what I'm talking about, but I can also tell that he's too pissed at me to answer. "I'm sorry. I honestly am. I shouldn't have said that about Rinoa. And I'll be honest, I can count on one hand the number of people who have heard those words from me."

As if he cares. To my surprise, he lifts up his body into a sitting position on the bed, his back against the wall under the window.

"Seifer . . ." He's quiet after that. I let him sort through his thoughts, not saying a word. I'm not being kicked out, which is a good sign. I'm also physically unharmed, which I consider a great sign. If he were truly upset with me, I'd at least have a split gut by now.

He lifts his head. "Seifer, you know me. I know that you do; I'm neither blind nor stupid."

I stare at him, without saying anything. How did he know? Okay, so maybe I was somewhat obvious. Panic rises in my chest. Does he know about us? Oh, God, what am I going to have to tell him? Okay, this is no big deal. Maybe he doesn't remember. If he doesn't, I can still keep our quasi relationship going by telling half-truths, because like Hell he'd keep me around if he knew that I had my dick up his ass at one point.

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

I shrug, knowing full well he can see me much better than I can see him. "It didn't seem important, really."

A hum sounds, Squall obviously not totally believing that. "So then, you do know me."

Well, there's no point in lying. "Yes, I do."

And then he asks the one question that I'm most afraid of, a question I desperately do not want to answer: "how?"

I could tell him the truth. I could tell him right now, and have it out in the open. But I won't. I love him too much to ruin him now. It shouldn't be too hard. I'll tell him the truth, simply omitting the fact that we were lovers, as good as married in both of our eyes.

"We . . . we were friends."

"Friends?"

I have to chuckle at the doubt in his voice. "Yes, and don't ask me how it came to be that way. We were partnered together in boot camp. We had both run away from home, me trying to prove something, and you wanting to be just like your hero."

There's a pause. "Laguna?"

"Heh. Yes, Laguna. He's an idiot, I'll grant you, but a damned smart one. Squall, exactly how much do you want to know?"

This time, there's no hesitation. "Everything."

Hm, not too surprising. "Alright. Do you want to discuss it here, or can we go somewhere more comfortable?"

He doesn't say anything, but the creak of the mattress and his shadowy figure rising from the bed are clear answers my question.

We move into the living room, myself following him closely, as my eyes haven't entirely adjusted yet. He curls up in the armchair, leaving me to sit on the sofa.

"All right. Any burning questions?"

A slight pause. "What happened to me?"

"What, the accident? You were called out on a mission, a basic thing mostly meant to train new recruits. I won't give you the details on that. Essentially, you were in a plane, but something was wrong with it, some mundane thing that should have been caught immediately." Funny how fate works, sometimes. "The controls gave out, and it crashed. That's pretty much all we know. Whatever was wrong with the plane messed up the tracking device, so we had no idea where the plane came down. By the time we figured it out from calls to emergency services, you were gone, something we could never figure out. It crashed in the middle of the countryside. The other four were dead already. But with you, except for some blood, there was nothing. You weren't in any of the hospitals in the surrounding areas. Both the army and Laguna offered a reward and looked everywhere, but obviously that didn't work."

"Were we in the Air Force?"

I frown, confused. "No, how do you figure that?"

He shrugs. "I was in a helicopter."

Ah. "Well, no. We were in a special branch where all of the truly talented kiddies were shoved. We were mercenaries."

He makes a choking noise and shoots straight up in his chair. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

"I killed people? For money?"

"That you did." I would mention that he also enjoyed the job, but I don't feel like aggravating him further. Watching his obvious horror at the thought of killing an 'innocent', I shake my head. Christ, he sure as hell changed. It's too bad that my feelings for him haven't.

He stares off into space for a good minute or so, before shaking his head as if to clear it. Great, I just gave him something to obsess about later. Ten gil says he changes the subject.

"Seifer, did Laguna tell me the truth yesterday?"

Well, I win that little wager. "What truth?"

"Hn. You didn't hear his story?"

"Nope. Sorry, I came in just when he was saying to watch your back around someone. You'll have to be more specific."

"Was James in the military?"

I frown at him, confused. "Of course; everyone knows that. He was a high ranking general."

I can feel him scowl at me. But honestly, how did he not know even that? Didn't he do any background research on the man that saved his life?

"Do you know about my parents?"

. . . well, shit. Of all the questions, he would ask this of me. "Yes. I do."

"My mother. . ." he trails off; the question is implied.

"Obviously I never met Raine, but you had some good memories of her. She died when you were a kid. Laguna took over after that, as your biological father was a bum or something. You never told me that part of it. You know, I can see what you're going through, and I know things don't make sense, but in your own little way, you love that man." He scoffs, and I smirk. "No, really. The only trouble you two ever had was that he wouldn't let you enter the military academy. Eventually it pissed you off to the point that you left before it would ruin your relationship with him. Blood means nothing. So far as I'm concerned, that man is your father."

"You two are close?"

The question stops me momentarily; I had never really thought about it. "Yeah, I guess we are. My own father was a jerk, so Laguna kind of filled that role. You know, the dad I never had and all that sentimental crap. He's a good guy who attracts bad things."

There's a pause while Squall thinks. I can see him more clearly now, my eyes having had time to get used to the darkness.

There's a scratch at the glass door, momentarily startling both of us. I relax immediately, my sense telling me it's just that damned dog again. Squall gets up and lets the mutt in. I guess he put him outside so that he could think without a wet dog nose being shoved in his face. Immediately the dog jumps on the couch and lies down, resting his large head on my lap. I scratch his ears softly as Squall sits back down, still trying to sort things out in his head.

Finally, he looks at me. "Seifer, that cat . . . when you handed him to me, I think I had a flashback."

Well, that explains a lot.

"I was sitting down somewhere, and there was a big gray cat on my lap, and a woman was asking where he was, and I think I heard your voice . . ." he stares at me steadily, a frown on his face, his expression silently demanding answers to an unasked question.

I snuggle further down on the couch. "All right, that makes more sense. That gray cat's name was Griever, which means that that woman was probably Selphie. Irvine's girlfriend," I clarify. "The four of us lived together in a beach house."

He looks at me oddly, but doesn't voice an opinion.

"I'll have to take you up there. See if it does anything for your memory." Do I really want that to happen? Selfishly, yes, but I don't want to see him hurt.

There's another long silence between us. I'm not sure what to say to him, and for once I have no idea what's going through his head.

A scratch at my door and a yowl breaks the silence unexpectedly. The dog in my lap whines, scrambles off of the couch, and high tails it for Squall's bedroom. I smirk at this, until I look at Squall, who is clearly not amused. Hmph. Kill joy.

Without warning he rises, shuts the door to his room, locking the dog inside, and then opens the door to mine. Griever rushes out and immediately tries to tie himself in a knot around Squall's legs. Squall bends over and picks the fur ball up and carries him back to the chair. The cat settles into his lap as if he were born to sit there, closes his eyes in bliss, and purrs as Squall pets him. The brunette simply goes back to staring at a wall.

As I'm obviously being ignored while he's off in Squa-la land, I take the moment to think things over. Selphie would love to see Squall again, and God knows the woman has enough tact to not say anything stupid to him concerning our past relationship. I think she's missed him almost as much as I have, he being the only one who would actually help her around the house without complaint. The two of them had formed an odd sort of friendship over the time they knew each other, something Irvine and I constantly teased them about, though we were both secure in our respective lovers loyalties.

Then there's the simple fact that Squall loved the ocean. I tried looking up some cures on Amnesia, and there was nothing conclusive, but it's been said that recognition couldn't hurt. That is, show the patient something that used to affect them, and maybe it would spark some brain matter into remembering something.

Why does life have to be so fucking difficult? As horrible as the thought is, why couldn't Rinoa have died in that car crash that took her mother? Then again, if she had, maybe Squall wouldn't be alive today. If it weren't for her, well, her and her child, there would be nothing in my way to keep me from taking Squall back.

And then there's the whole sexuality thing. The whole time we were together, he expressed an intense sexual dislike for females of any shape or form. He swore up and down that he was strictly dickly, and nothing would change that. However, all it takes is a bop on the head, and he's having sex with a woman. Granted, an attractive woman, beautiful, even, but a woman nonetheless. Can amnesia truly do that to a person? Make them change their whole behavioral and social pattern? What else can it change? Why are certain things forgotten but not others?

Why did it have to be Squall?

. . . that's a good point. What if it had been me with amnesia? If I were in Squall's place, what would I want?

Sad to say, but I have no idea. I can't even comprehend the magnitude of what he's been through. He's already uprooted his life twice . . . God, if I say that anymore I'm going to sound like a broken record.

". . . Seifer?" Squall's voice is a surprise.

"Hm?"

". . . nothing." He looks down at the cat in his lap.

Immediately my curiosity is piqued. "Ah ah, Squall. Something."

He scowls. "… …"

"And I'm sure it wasn't that. What's up?"

There's another lengthy pause before he answers. ". . . I'm hungry."

I smirk at him. "That's obviously not what you were thinking, but fair enough." I check my watch. It's after ten at night. "Well, it's late. Not many good places will be open, so I'll cook. What do you want?"

He narrows his eyes at me, but doesn't say what bothers him. Instead he simply relaxes back in the cushy chair. "Chicken something would be nice."

Well, that certainly narrows my options. "Okay, great. That leaves us with . . ." I count on my fingers as I talk. "Fried chicken, baked chicken, chicken fettuccini, chicken strips, lemon chicken, orange chicken, lime chicken, stuffed chicken, chicken a la king, chicken cordon bleu, chicken . . ."

"Seifer."

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up and just make me some chicken."

I grin at him. "As my master demands, so I obey."

Obviously not amused, he picks the large kitten up and carries it with him into the small kitchen. I follow, grateful for whoever keeps the food supply up.

The chicken is frozen, so dinner won't be ready for quite some time yet. I inform Squall of this fact, take out some frozen chicken breasts, remove them from the package, and plunk them in a bowl of steaming hot water to thaw.

I drop into the chair across from him at the small, circular table, amused at his obvious distaste of the way I sit down. Amnesia or not, some things never change.

"You know, for a guy who wants to know everything, you sure don't ask much."

He snorts lightly. "Care to trade places? It's not as easy as it seems."

Well, that I can imagine. "All right. Let's see. Your name is Squall Leonhart. You don't have a middle name. Your favorite color is dark blue, and your favorite animal is the lion. Your favorite number's twenty-three. Your favorite drink is water, and you can't stand kool-aid or tea. Your preferred flavor of ice cream is cookie crunch, though you tell people that it's vanilla. Any of that still true?"

He thinks for a minute. "I don't have a favorite number."

"Fair enough. You hate body hair, especially facial, stupid people, bigots, excessive noise, the color yellow, and anything with scales freaks you out, whether it be fish or reptile."

At his raised eyebrow, I add, "among other things."

He nods again, features partly illuminated by the moonlight so that he almost seems ethereal. God, he's beautiful, and he has no idea. 'Course, it's not like I can tell him that without having some heavy explaining to do.

It's so fucking stupid. Looking at him, I could care less about his new life. I want him to remember **me**. Maybe I should just tell him everything, and fuck this friendship shit.

I love him so much, and it's almost physically painful that he doesn't hold the same feelings for me anymore. I find myself having to restrain myself from reaching out and touching him, from saying to him some random thing that would show my true feelings for him. I would just walk away from this mess, but to leave him forever would be far more excruciating than having him around, if only as a friend, knowing of his 'true' feeling for me but never being able to experience them and always knowing that there will never again be anything between us.

I lean forward and rest my head against my arms. Fate is a cruel, cruel bitch.

…………………………………………………………….

Squall

Three years. Three years I've wondered about my past. Granted, more in the first few months, but it's always in the back of my head. Why is it that now I have somebody who can tell me everything, and I can't think of anything to ask?

I watch as Seifer moves around the kitchen, pulling various items out of their places. He hums to himself in a distracted manner, no tune that I've ever heard, as he prepares our dinner.

I knew he knew me. I don't know how I knew. It's the way he looks at me sometimes, or the things he says in an offhand manner, things that you just don't say to someone you've only known for less than a week.

Of course, it hasn't just been a week for Seifer. He said we became friends in the military. How long ago was that? How far back do we go?

I can't hate him, nor can I blame him for making me question myself. It was supposed to be easy. I was going to get married, make my way up in this law firm, and move on with my life. Then comes Seifer, and he brings my past with him. He has a valid point about Caraway controlling the records, and I'll admit I never entirely liked the man, though I do respect him.

However, I'm not marrying James. I'm marrying Rinoa. We're going to have a child, and I love her. I can't imagine living my life without her. She's done so much for me, the least of which was saving my life. She helped me forget.

But what about the other one? Laguna said that in my old life, I loved another person. Should I find out about her? I'm sure that Seifer would know about her. Then again, chances are she's moved on with her life after all this time, and it would probably be best to leave her alone.

Then again, if Rinoa went missing, I would want closure, no matter how much time had passed.

"Seifer?"

"Yeah? Oh, hold on. Just let me . . . **fuck**!" My large roommate quickly drops the oven hot chicken onto the counter top and blows on his wrist, then shakes it furiously. He examines what I assume to be a burn closely, then sighs. "Brilliant move, Almasy."

Shaking his head, he transfers the cooked chicken to a platter, and then brings it to the table. God, it smells delicious.

He hands me a plate and silverware, sets his own place, and then collapses in the chair. Christ, does he have to do that?

He looks at me, and then laughs. "Lighten up, kid. So," he digs into the chicken. "What did you want?"

I place some of the bird on my own plate. "Laguna said that before my accident, I was in love with someone."

Seifer hesitates in his movements, something I barely notice, and then goes back to picking apart his chicken. "Oh?"

"Who was she?"

He looks at me then, eyebrows arched high on his forehead, and then frowns. "Does it really matter right now?"

"Yes." It matters to me.

He looks at me as one would look at an interesting organism under a microscope. "What do you want to know about her?"

I raise my own eyebrow at him. "Her name, for one."

He leans back in his chair and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "You know, could we skip that part? I don't think she would want you to know."

"Hn." Whatever. I'll ask Laguna later. "What was she like?"

He laughs at that, though I've no idea why. "She was fun. A pain in the ass, as you mentioned on several occasions, but you two really cared for each other. She had a temper, but you were able to bring her down. Most of it was just hot air, anyway. She was funny. She could make you laugh. She could annoy you, as well, but you wouldn't have it any other way." He shrugs. "You loved her, and she was absolutely crazy about you. You guys had everything in your relationship but a marriage certificate, and as far as you were concerned, you didn't need one, because what you had was just as good."

That's what Laguna had mentioned. "Why?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Why what?"

"If we were so much in love, why weren't we married?"

Seifer smirks. "Because one of you would have had to wear a dress down the aisle, and she swore up and down that it wouldn't be her."

We didn't marry because she wouldn't wear a dress? . . . the Hell?

"What happened to her?"

"What, after the accident?" I nod, and Seifer shrugs. "She was really fucked up. She waited a long time for you to return, but you know, people have to move on with their lives. She thought about you every day. You were the only person she ever really loved, you know." He laughs. "No, you don't know, do you. A lot of people told her to give up. It was hard on her."

"Hn. Did you tell her to?"

He stares at me for a moment, frowning slightly in thought. "No. I always thought you would come back someday, like one of those stupid fairy tales. She thought about giving up, but hated to do it. Ultimately she couldn't live with not knowing. She needed something more."

"So she just moved on with her life?"

"Mm. I guess you could say that." He shoves a piece of the cooked bird into his mouth and grins at something.

I watch him chew for a moment before asking, "How long were we together?"

He swallows before answering, something I find commendable. "You were in a relationship for just under three years, if that's what you mean. You knew each other for about a year before that."

I'm about to say that that is no time at all to form a relationship akin to a marriage, but bite my words when I realize I've only known Rinoa for three years, and am set to marry next week. Seifer smiles at my hesitation, and I scowl and take a bite of the chicken.

My eyes widen slightly at the exquisite flavor, saliva immediately filling my mouth at the taste. It's perfect, nice and tender, with just a hint of . . . something.

"I put some rosemary on it," Seifer volunteers, giving me an odd look. He has a half smile on his face, but he also looks somewhat sad. I frown at him, and then look down at my plate, poking at the chicken with a fork.

Who knew that horrid looking plant . . . or is it an herb? Whatever it is, it tastes remarkable. I can't remember the last time I took seconds. Heh, I wonder if I can take Seifer with Rinoa and I as a personal chef. Then again, Seifer hates Rinoa.

Right. I forgot about that. After coming home I had locked Seifer out on the balcony and had then gone to my room to think. Seifer is one of the only two people who can tell me about my past, that I'm aware of. Because of that, I can't just make good on my threat to kick him out. Also, it's nice to have the blonde around, as much as I dislike admitting it.

I get the feeling that he's holding something back, something important. However, I'm not sure that I want to know what that is. Already my view of James has been skewered. What if Seifer turns me off of Rinoa? I don't think that he can – I hope he can't -, but it's better off to keep them separated. I can't just leave her. I love her, and our child.

Christ, I'm going to be a father. We should probably start thinking of names and all of the other things that come with having a child. I've been looking at a house close to the firm; it's small, compared to what Rinoa is used to, but still large as residences go and in a great neighborhood, with a highly reputable school close by. I don't care about the sex of the child, though if it's a girl, I hope it looks like Rinoa. Regardless, I hope it inherits her gorgeous smile. A smile is important, and is something I have trouble with. We should probably even look into Lamaze.

Heh, I wonder what it will call me? 'Dad', probably, though 'papa' wouldn't be too bad. No 'pop', I couldn't handle that, and 'father' is simply to formal. I'm going to be a dad . . .

"Yo, Squall."

I look up at my roommate, who's giving me an odd look. "…?"

"You had a weird grin on your face. Everything all right?"

"Hn. Just thinking."

"Oh?" He points his fork at me. "What about?"

I shrug, not really wanting to mention the child he's so sure isn't mine, but knowing that he won't give up until I tell him what's on my mind. "The child."

Contrary to the outburst I'm half expecting, he simply nods. "Got a name picked out?"

". . . no."

Hr grins playfully. "Cecil, or Gertrude. Ooh, how about Clarence? It doesn't get much more manly than that."

I glare at him. I work with a Cecil, and he's a decent guy.

"No? Okay, Brunhilda? Or," he actually waggles his eyebrows at me. "How about Squall Junior?" Unfazed by my dark look, he smiles at me. "Kind of classy. You could start a lineage, you know? A little Leon-heartless dynasty."

. . . the Hell? "'Leon-heartless'?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. Just a little nickname Irvine thought up while we were in the military. It sort of stuck."

"Irvine was with us in the military?"

"Uh huh. 'Cept he transferred from Galbadia. He's the one that owns the beach house, and we would go there during leave. He met Selphie while you and I were . . ." immediately he flushes red, and then continues. "Uh, catching up on some rest at the beach house. The rest is sort of history."

I raise an eyebrow at him. Obviously we weren't catching up on some rest. See, this is what I'm talking about. He's keeping something from me, and it's starting to irk me.

"Hey, you want to go there?"

". . . ?" Where?

"The beach house. I think you'd like it. We could go tomorrow."

I think about the cat memory – flashback, whatever it was. That was in the beach house. Maybe if I go, I'll remember something else. ". . . all right. But I have an appointment in the afternoon, so it will have to be after five"

"Great." He smiles again, and tucks into his meal with an air of finality.

After a brief moments hesitance, I join him.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

BS: Well, it's a push in the right direction ;) A strong, unnecessarily rough push. I'll just blame Seifer for that, since he's getting flack from everyone else at the moment :P He's being difficult – not being able to decide what he wants to do with Squall. Phft, **I** have a good idea, just not Seifer. Fun, fun.

I'm American, so I use American military terms. However, I know next to nothing about that (or law, smooth move on my part :P), so I'm making a bunch of stuff up :D I love A.U.s

Also, before I get people on my case – Squall is with Rinoa, and thus figures he is 'straight'. So, he assumes his past love is female. When Seifer is telling Squall about 'her', he is really referring to himself and their relationship. Okay? No flames concerning this? Good. .-

Thanks for reading :D


	10. Beach House

Disclaimer: belongs to the company that owns it. Guess which company that is .-

Warning: mild nudity, language, lack of direction on the author's part :(

………………………………………………………..

Seifer

The cat, which I can't quite bring myself to refer to as 'Griever', lies purring contentedly on top of my chest, rising and falling with each breath I take. My eyes are closed, though if I bothered to open them I would be met with the gorgeous sight of the cat's ass being shoved in my face in its endeavor for more attention. Pushy bastard.

I had called Irvine earlier to arrange the meeting at the Beach House, and he said he would see to the technical details. Technical detail number one being, of course, to hide the photo albums from Selphie before she got it into her head to share Squall's life story with him. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but a person can only take so much reminiscing before getting the urge to go psychotic.

As I scratch the base of the cat's tail I think about the journals under my bed. I should probably get around to burning them at some point. I won't, of course. Murphy's Law being what it is, I would destroy them and then get the immediate urge to rifle through them all and relieve past memories, masochistic prick that I am.

I had thrown Squall's story in the box as an afterthought. I meant to read it at some point, preferably at a drunken point, but at the same time I had once promised Squall that I wouldn't read it, and even after all this time, I couldn't just go back on my word. Of course, Squall being in the picture now, the book should probably be returned to him.

With a sigh I pick the cat up and dump him by my side, where he proceeds to glare at me. I stick my tongue out at him, spend a moment lamenting the fact that I'm completely pathetic and that I actually just stuck out my tongue at a cat, and then slide off the bed.

The box is still there, right next to the smaller box of old receipts that I can't bring myself to throw away. After a moment's contemplation, I bring them both out from under the bed. The heavier, cardboard box dedicated to old notebooks I toss to the side, and then sit there for a moment, holding the plastic shoebox. With a sigh, I pull the lid off, and stare at the bare mementos of memories still stuck in my head. Some of the receipts are for meals, including the one from our first date at Sanks, when we decided that we liked each other more than just friends, and, with the help of a couple of glasses of wine, we went home and tested that theory. There are a couple movie tickets, the receipt from the choker he gave me (which Selphie dug out of the trash, knowing I would want to hang onto it) with the price blacked out, the one from the lion necklace I gave him for his nineteenth birthday, among various other reminders. At the moment, it's not them I'm interested in.

I sift through the receipts until my fingers brush the item I'm looking for. It's a photograph, taken by the camera happy Selphie, of Squall and me. Squall was on the phone with someone, just a mundane business call. Purely in the spirit of being annoying I had drawn him into a hug, wrapping my arms completely around him, and flashed a huge grin at the camera. Squall, whose head was tucked under my chin and who refused to remove the phone from his ear, smiled distractedly towards Selphie just as she pushed the button.

When I moved I had the other pictures of Squall and me put into storage with some of my other junk, but this picture I had to keep. In that one little shot, our relationship had been completely captured, and I couldn't give that up.

With a final glance at Squall's face, I put the picture back in the shoebox and shove the whole thing as far under the bed as it will go. I snort at the note "Things Never to Look at Again – unless dead drunk" that I had scrawled across the brown cardboard while I had actually been heavily inebriated and open up the box.

I frown at not seeing Squall's notebook; I thought I had put it in last. Confused, I dig deeper, tossing out other books left and right. Finally I'm left staring at the last book, and still no sign of Squall's book. Oddly enough, the black sketchbook he had given me with my name embossed on the spine was also missing. Well, that's weird. I can't imagine _not _packing them, though I suppose it's a possibility. I'll have to ask Selphie later.

The sound of the front door slamming distracts me from the task at hand, and I decide to worry about the small mess later.

After a moment, Squall knocks on the doorframe. I stand and stretch, then walk towards him. He says something to me, about how he's going to change out of his suit real quick, and how he was sorry that he was late. Whatever his words are, they don't matter. What matters is that they come from him. Of course, this isn't Squall, is it? Not with that distant, unfamiliar look in his eyes, or the stiff stance he maintains with most people. No, my Squall isn't here anymore.

God, why do I torture myself like this? I wish I could find something, do something to make him remember. Something to make that look go away…

I manage to answer him without sounding like a complete moron, and he wanders off to do whatever it is he needs to do.

I wander around the apartment, making sure the balcony door is locked, and straighten things at random. There's a picture next to the television of Rinoa and him, a black and white number, with her arms wrapped around him. She's smiling coyly at the camera, and Squall … here, in this picture, this is my Squall. His eyes are filled with vague amusement, the mouth barely turned up at the corners in what some would hardly call a smile. That's what he used to look like when we would talk to each other, and now it seems that only Rinoa can bring it out of him.

I toy with the idea of placing the picture facedown on the shelf, but ultimately I find myself simply straightening it and moving on.

After walking several more circles around the living room furniture, Squall decides to make an appearance. He's not wearing anything fancy, just plain jeans and a white t-shirt.

"I take it you're ready to go?"

He looks down at himself. ". . . ."

"Phft, you look fine. Believe me, you could walk in naked and no one would care." I think about that for a moment. "Scratch that. Selphie would be thrilled. Now that we've got that out of the way, are you ready to go?"

Squall frowns at me, confused. "How do you…"

"… read your mind?" I smirk at his expression. "Years of practice. I've got the keys."

He follows me out the door, thinking that little tidbit over. Admittedly, it used to piss me off when he would do those little monologues of his. After I bothered to learn his expressions, it pissed him off that I knew what he was 'saying'. A useful talent, really, but not something I'm willing to lose my dick over.

I bow him out of the dorm and lock the door behind us. It's warm today, just another aspect of this volatile weather we've been having lately. Looking at Squall's outfit, it would seem he has the right idea. Whatever. If it gets hot enough I can just take my shirt off.

I watch him as he gets into the car, the way his hair falls over his face as he twists in his seat to buckle his seat belt. His hair is exactly the same as it was three years ago. Appearance wise, nothing is different. He settles back into the seat, staring out the windshield with hooded eyes.

As I back out of the parking space, I wonder idly how often Squall drives. Then I have to wonder if he's improved at all. Not that Squall was ever a bad driver – quite the opposite. He simply wasn't a slow one. He took all of the driving courses the academy offered, and was damn helpful when it came down to getting away from a mission quickly, but I can't even count how many times I had been left puking after his typical abrupt stop, which left any occupants of the vehicle reeling with mild whiplash. I felt bad the other day when he threw up after eating at Sanks, but on the other hand I also considered it a form of payback, several years in the coming. A karma type of thing, if you will. However, I will admit that his knowledge improved my own skills quite a bit, as he taught me the finer points of driving. When combined with the fact that I acknowledge and follow the speed limit (unlike a certain brunette I know), I consider myself a damn good driver.

I'm only mildly surprised when he casts a slight glare at the speedometer and huffs. "Why do you go so slow?"

I smirk at him without taking my eyes off of the road. "To piss you off."

A moment of silence follows that. Then, "why?"

"'Why' what? Why would I want to piss you off?" I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. I shrug. "It's fun. 'Sides, s'not like I have anything better to do."

Ah, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. God, I love this man.

"Seifer?"

"Yeah?"

"…"

"Oh, that's helpful. What, you worried about offending someone or something?" He glances at me, somewhat bemused. I huff. "Please, that's nothing special. We're going to a new place, meeting people who used to know you. Obviously you'd be nervous. But you can't offend Irvine or Selph. Don't worry about it."

He stares at me a moment longer, then sighs and leans back in his seat, eyes closed. All right, cue me shutting the hell up.

He doesn't say another word until I turn into the long driveway. After looking around for a moment he glances at me, confused. "This is it?"

"That it is."

"But…" His eyebrows scrunch together in thought, taking his scar with them.

"But what, Squally-boy?"

"Don't call me that, prick," he snaps automatically, then freezes with his eyes wide open. I brake, and look at him, surprised. "Um…," he states brilliantly.

"Damn, I haven't heard that in a while." That used to be his standard response whenever I would call him something, and in the exact same tone. Phft, of course he would remember **that**.

"I don't know why I said that." His gaze lingers on the dashboard; he seems discomfited. I decide I might as well change the subject, filing this away for later.

"What were you going to say?"

It takes him a minute to catch on. "I was going to mention that this is only a few miles from the dorm."

"Heh, can't get anything past you."

"Well, yeah, but …" he growls, frustrated. "You've been living here this whole time? How is it possible that we never ran into each other?"

Great minds must think alike. I've been wondering that myself. "I have no idea."

He grunts some noncommittal answer, which I translate to 'conversation's over.' The rest of the drive up the lengthy driveway seems short. Of course, the appearance of Selphie at the door doesn't help much. It's short in the way that the walk from his cell to the chair is short to a condemned man.

Selphie runs towards the hapless brunette as he exits the car, squealing his name at a note the dog _might_ be able to understand. I laugh at his expression as she throws her arms around him and damn near lifts him off the ground in a hug that Laguna would have been proud of.

"Squall! It's so good to see you. Oh, I hope you like chicken, because I made lots of it. And pie! Dinner isn't dinner without pie. Oh, honey, I've missed you so much!" She smiles up at him affectionately. He manages a weak smile, which she barely notices as she drags him into the house. I follow along at a more human pace, languidly absorbing whatever it is she's blathering on about. "Of course, I'm Selphie. Oh, that's so weird! To be introducing myself to you again, after all these years. Right, you met Irvine … Irvine! Get your lazy butt out here! Anyway, dinner's on the table. I figured you would be here earlier, but it's still nice and warm. If you want anything, just ask. All right, you sit here. I'll be right back. …Irvine! Ooh, that man. Hold on."

And she's off again. Squall looks at me from his seat, bewildered. I sit in the chair closest to him and smirk. "That's Selphie for ya. We like to think she powers Balamb's electric grid."

He 'ahs', and then finds some spot on the table and stares at it pointedly as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. Well, guess that conversation's over.

It's not too much longer before Selphie finds Irvine and forces him into the seat next to me. He grins at us, entirely undisturbed, and even manages to engage Squall in some conversation or another as Selphie sets the food on the table. I have to laugh when I see the main course – I've been eating way too much chicken lately. Selph's Glare of Death puts an end to my mild amusement quickly.

Dinner goes quite smoothly, considering. Squall doesn't say much, spending most of his time tuning in and out the general conversation at hand while scooping out the place. Every so often he replies to some question that gets tossed in his general direction, but nothing big. It's mostly small talk, which I'm thankful for. Unfortunately, given the looks Selphie keeps throwing at Squall, we'll be having a nice long discussion later.

Selphie, charming hostess that she is, runs off with Squall immediately after dinner, leaving my fine self and Irvine to do the dishes. I should have known better, considering. By the time we had the dishes washed and put away, Selphie had managed to get Squall settled in the living room, stacks of photo albums covering every inch of the table in front of them.

Irvine winces at my glare, and mutters some excuse or another for not having disposed of the photographs. Not that it really matters now.

Selphie smiles brightly at me as I plop on the couch across from her, and immediately engages me in a trip down memory lane. "See, Seifer? This is us at the ocean right after we first met. Remember?"

Yeah, I remembered. I remember Selphie somehow managing to pin me underwater, and how after I managed to trick Squall into going out with me, he would just have to bring it up whenever I got too arrogant for his taste. However, it is kind of nice to see shirtless photos of Squall, even if he is glaring at the camera.

Irvine sits next to me on the couch, and hands me a beer. He offers one to Squall, who turns it down. In the spirit of figuring I won't be able to get through the next hour or so without alcohol in my system, I graciously take the drink meant for Squall.

The first time I met Selphie, a few things stood out quite clearly. First was the fact that she looked too innocent to be a mercenary. Second was that she had entirely too much energy. Third was the fact that she seemed to have a camera permanently attached to her hand. Looking at the albums in front of me, I see now why I should have thrown the damned thing out of a helicopter long ago.

The first album has pictures of the four of us on vacation, mostly at the ocean, though a few of the pictures are of other such fun activities. There's a small section on our rock-climbing trip. Irvine's brilliant suggestion. I don't know what the hell happened, but my equipment malfunctioned, and I fell fifteen feet to the ground. In fact, looking at these pictures, it occurs to me that I've nearly died on just about all of our 'fun little outings'. It also occurs to me that Selphie and Irvine are laughing far too much while explaining the events to Squall.

"Alright, that's enough. Don't you have anything else we can look at?"

Selphie pokes her tongue out at me as she closes the vacation album and pulls out a larger, blue one. This one is full of pictures of us in the military. Squall leans forward when he realizes this and peers intently at a picture of him in his uniform standing in front of a helicopter. As usual, he's giving the camera his best poker face.

"When was this?"

Selphie shrugs. "Right after we were assigned our basic duties. You had just gotten your flying license."

"I was a pilot?"

"Eh, among other things. You just preferred being in the air. You weren't the best pilot, but you were the best killer they had, so they pretty much let you do what you want."

Squall looks mildly confused by that. "I was the best . . .?"

"Mercenary? Yeah. Actually, we were the top four, so they put us in a special group, and we spent about half of our time training others. You disappeared on a training mission."

Irvine decided to speak up. "Which was a shame. You were in love with your job."

"I was in love with killing people?" His cold tone made the three of us glance up at him. Mentally I cuss out Irvine. Squall doesn't remember being in the military at all, and it can't be easy discovering you were a famed murderer.

"Well, you were good at it." Irvine adds, lamely.

"Alright, moving along …" Selphie cuts in, flipping through the pages. She stops at a certain page, and then grins as only Selphie can. She spins the album around and points to a picture, a picture I remember oh so well.

The four of us had been on leave at the time. Irvine and Selphie had just decided they only wanted each other, and felt the need to celebrate the fact. They had, in not so subtle terms, informed Squall and I that they didn't want us along for the ride that night. Being the jackass that I am, I agreed to leave them alone only if Squall would give me a piggyback ride across the street. What can I say? I just wanted to touch him without it being 'weird'. Selphie turned her full charm on the brunette, and he finally agreed, albeit reluctantly. Of course, Selphie had her camera on hand, and somehow it found its way into this album.

Squall stares at it, wide-eyed, as Selphie tells him the story, with multiple embellishments. I watch his face as he listens to her, and then watch his eyes lose focus as he wanders into his own head and completely forgets to pay attention to Selphie. The girl doesn't seem to notice, and chatters on.

Without warning, Squall cuts her off and addresses me. "Seifer, what did we do after that?"

I stare at him, knowing full well what we did after that. I'm not about to tell Squall, though. "Why do you ask?"

"I remember carrying you. I dropped you on your ass once we had crossed the street." Irvine snort laughs at this, remembering. "They left, and we went … somewhere. It seems important."

Damn his fucking memory. "Not really. We went to Sanks, because they wanted to go to Kerr's, and we weren't _allowed_ to follow them."

And after Sanks we went home and fucked for the first time. Wasn't that fun? Of course, it's not like I can tell Squall that. Nor can I tell him about that awkward moment when we both figured on topping the other, and neither of us wanted to be on the receiving end. Never was a game of 'rock, paper, scissors' so crucial. Lucky for me, Squall lost, and decided it wasn't so bad on bottom.

He gives me an odd look, obviously not buying my version of the truth. Fortunately, Squall knows when to leave well enough alone.

"Hey, Squall. Out of curiosity, how did you know your name?"

I sigh at Irvine's question. "Ever heard of dog tags?"

Squall frowns. "Dog tags?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You were wearing them when you left land. They had your name on them."

Squall shrugs. "I never saw them. They must have been lost somewhere." He turns to Irvine. "I remember some things, like my name and birthday, as well as other dates that mean nothing to me."

"Such as?"

Squall closes his eyes in thought. "December twenty-second, July eighteenth, and May twenty-third, among others."

I snort. "Figures."

"…?"

"While we were … friends, you never once could remember my birthday. December twenty-second. May twenty-third was the day you were promoted as a mercenary."

"And July eighteenth?"

"I don't know." Which is bullshit. Of course he would remember my birthday _and _our anniversary after forgetting everything else.

There's a moment of silence before Squall changes the topic. "No offense, but I want to go to the ocean."

Selphie, more than used to Squall's changing whims, closes the book and nods. "Take Seifer with you. Irvine and I need to turn in early. Oh, and take these albums when you leave. Maybe you'll remember something. Say goodbye on your way out!" And she gives Squall a hug that damn near broke his back.

Next thing I know, Irvine is shoving me out the back door with an obvious wink. Squall is pushed out after me, leaving the two of us to stare, bemused, as the girl closes and locks the glass door, smiling and waving at us as she does so.

"Selphie is …"

"Yeah, I know."

"Ah."

"Ocean, then?"

"Sure."

……………………………..

Squall

I don't remember this place at all, though I'm sure I've been here in the past. Seifer's strange comment from when I first met him runs through my head. I thought it was odd why he would ask me if I had been to the ocean lately. I look around the shore, recognizing various features from Seifer's sketches.

I wait for a wave to crawl over the sand before bending down and running my finger through the shallow water. It's cold, but not freezing. It will probably feel good on a day like this. I look over at Seifer, who jerks his head off to the side, but not quick enough for me to be able to tell he was looking at me. The man pisses me off to no certain degree. I know he holds the key to my past, corny as that sounds. He could probably tell me what all these meaningless dates and numbers in my head mean, and I know there was more to that night than just an overpriced dinner at Sanks.

Whatever. He'll tell me when he's ready.

I pull my t-shirt off and fold it loosely before dropping it onto a pile of soft sand next to me. My boots and socks follow, and I spent a moment just wiggling my toes in the sand. It feels good. I remove my watch and drop it on top of the small pile of clothes.

"Um, Squall? What're you doing?"

"Swimming."

"Naked?"

"I don't want my clothes to get wet."

I undo my belts and then my pants, and remove it all. My boxers follow. I stretch, raising my arms as high as they'll go, before stepping into the ocean.

It's warmer than I thought it would be, and there's just something refreshing about swimming naked that I never would have imagined. I look back towards the shore, where Seifer seems to be making an effort not to look at me. For some reason he's holding my clothes in his lap.

"Seifer?"

"Um, you go on. I'll hold your stuff for you. So it doesn't get dirty." And then he mutters something I can't hear as he slaps his forehead. Whatever.

I swim out a little ways into the water, surprised at how perfect it feels. I dive under, allowing the water to saturate my hair. After a few moments, I expel the air from my lungs, and sink down to the sandy bottom of the ocean, and then carefully open my eyes. It's dark around me, but if I look up I can see the sun, and it's beautiful. I sit on the floor until my lungs threaten mutiny. I come up for air, and then go back under. It's difficult to stay down in the water. I throw my arms out to my sides and balance myself.

Christ, how can I not have known about this? I could stay down here forever. I force even more air from my lungs, and watch the bubbles float upwards. I feel like I'm finally home.

……………

Seifer

I don't know how long the idiot plays his little asphyxiation games, but it's long enough for me to will away my obvious erection. Fuck. I mean, who the Hell just strips down in front of someone they barely know? Because, truth be told, even if I know everything about him, the man knows next to nothing about me.

I will say one thing – his body hasn't changed a bit. It just brings back all those memories of the times where we fucked each other on this very beach. Moron.

I stare peevishly at the spots where he goes underwater, willing him to hurry up and get his ass out. And finally, he does.

He must have swum underwater, as he surfaces much nearer to the shore then when he dove under. He stands up, and tosses his head back at the same time to get his hair away from his face. Seeing him there, naked, lithe body arched back like that, long fingers pulling his hair back, he's beautiful.

I stand quickly and drop his clothes on the sand, wanting to get away before he can see my current hard on. It's all I can do not to fuck him right here, whether he knows me or not. At this point, I don't care.

I want him to be mine.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

B.S.: Sorry about the wait, guys. I blame personal problems, lack of a muse, and laziness in general. This chapter didn't do quite what I wanted to do, and I may revise it later. However, what I have works, especially considering the crap I had to go through t find a computer to get this posted. Meh.

Also, this story does actually get angsty later. Maybe not in the next chapter or the following one, but it's not exactly a fairy tale, nor will it have a fairy tale ending. There, I warned you. Now you can't get mad at me :P


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